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Novels from Shakespeare Series 



The 
Merchant of Venice 



TOLD BY 

A POPULAR NOVELIST 



WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS 
IN COLOR BY 

AVERIL BURLEIGH 







PHILADELPHIA 




THE 


JOHN 


C. WINSTON 


COMPANY 






PUBLISHERS 





*\ 






Copyright, 1914, by 
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO 



FEB 2 1914 



)CI.A361822 

tot,, 



PUBLISHERS' NOTE 

In this Series the plays of Shakespeare appear in an altogether 
new guise. 

In his Preface to the "Tales from Shakespeare," Charles Lamb 
confessed the omission of "many surprising events and turns of 
fortune, which for their infinite variety could not be contained in 
this little book, besides a world of sprightly and cheerful characters, 
the humour of which I was fearful of losing if I attempted to reduce 
the length of them." 

Here, however, in the "Novels from Shakespeare," the limit of 
length is removed and the plays appear as old time romances in 
which almost every character keeps his place, and every incident is 
retained, only the dramatic and poetic setting giving place to the 
devices of the novelist. 

It is hoped that by means of this Series the charm of the stories 
in Shakespeare's plays will be better appreciated than before, and 
that through this means a fresh inducement will be created to read 
the plays themselves and to see them upon the stage. 



(5) 



CHARACTERS IN "THE MERCHANT 
OF VENICE" 

The Duke of Venice 

Portia di Nerlini Heiress of Count Pietro 

Nerissa Her maid 

Balthazar \ 

Stephano / ; Her two servants 

The Prince of Morocco . . Suitor to Portia 
Bassanio Ramberti .... A young Venetian noble 
Gratiano Marmottina ... A friend of Bassanio 
Antonio Cainello A merchant of Venice 

p > Merchants of Venice 

Salarino J 

Lorenzo Fortunato .... A friend of Bassanio 

Shylock A Jew 

Jessica His daughter 

Tubal A Jew, Shylock's friend 

In the novel, the following minor characters who are not repre- 
sented in the play, are also included: 

Count Pietro di Nerlini Portia's father 

Niccolo Grimani A profligate Venetian noble 

Paolo Antonio's servant 

Toni Panocchi Shylock 's servant 

Peter Chus A friend of Shylock 

Florio Portia's steward 

Angelo Sutari 1 i Ruffians hired by Niccolo 

Giacope / \ Grimani 

Monna Elena Keeper of a wine shop 

Dr. Cerello 

Gaspard Messenger from Bassanio 

(6) 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I. A Dangerous Expedition 11 

II. The Joy of Spring- tide 21 

III. The Revelers 29 

IV. On the Piazza San Marco 37 

V. The House of the Jew ...... 49 

VI. The Jew's Daughter 62 

VII. The Coming of a Lover 71 

VIII. The Queen of Many Subjects ... 77 

IX. A Royal Suitor 83 

X. Grimani Proves Importunate .... 94 

XL A Broken Oath 104 

XII. Toni Over-Reaches Himself .... 109 

XIII. Lorenzo Tells His Plans 118 

XIV. The Skeleton at the Feast .... 126 
XV. The Elopement 135 

XVI. Robbed! 143 

XVII. A Vain Search 152 

XVIII. A Tale Overheard 163 

(7) 



8 CONTENTS 

PAGE 

XIX. The Ambush 174 

XX. The Failure of Pursuit 195 

XXI. In the Church of San Marco . . . 206 

XXII. Nerissa Makes Conditions 218 

XXIII. The Choice 224 

XXIV. An Ill-Omened Messenger 234 

XXV. Stephano Goes to Padua 245 

XXVI. The Hour of Triumph 259 

XXVII. The Trial 268 

XXVIII. Bellario's Substitute 278 

XXLX. Justice! 295 

XXX. The Guerdon 302 

XXXI. The Home-Coming 309 

XXXII. A Sweet Confession 322 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Till I See My Ring, I Will Not Again Look 

Upon Your Face" frontispiece^ 

"I Will Collect the Ducats and Follow You 

as Speedily as May Be". . . .to face page 60^ 

"Do You Not Remember, Lady, a Venetian, a 

Young Soldier?" 82 1/ 

"Look to My House — Yes, Look to It Well" . 114 ^ 

"Take This Packet," She Cried 138 ^ 

"The Duke Shall Grant Me Justice" .... 212 ^ 

"Here Choose I. Joy Be the Consequence". 226 \S 

"A Pound of That Same Merchant's Flesh Is 

Yours" 292 ^ 



(9) 



THE 
MERCHANT OF VENICE 



N 



CHAPTER I 

A DANGEROUS EXPEDITION 

ERXSSA!" 

"I am here, lady." 

The dark-eyed waiting maid came to the 
side of the couch on which her young mistress lay. 

The bond between these two lay deeper than mere 
service commanded and rendered, for they were foster 
sisters, and the motherless and only child of the Count 
di Nerlini clung with tender affection to the girl who 
had been her childhood's playmate in these pleasant 
woods and amidst the fair scenes of her home — the 
Palazzo Nerlini at Belmont, situated close to Padua. 

A* happy childhood it had been too for Portia, in spite 
of a certain loneliness which a loving father's care had 
striven constantly to shield her from; and it was per- 
haps the memory of that tender guardianship which 
brought a cloud now to the young girl's face. 

"My father is ill," she said, looking towards Nerissa 
with troubled eyes. "I am certain it is so, though 
neither he nor the learned leech who traveled hither 
last week from Padua, are willing to admit it. But oh, 

(ii) 



12 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Nerissa, can a daughter's eyes mistake in such a case? 
There is a weariness which comes over him when he 
thinks none spy upon his solitude, and he grows thinner 
too. It is this fear which haunts such sunny hours and 
makes me tremble. He is all I have, Nerissa, all I have 
to love, save you, sweet friend." 

The maid came closer, kneeling by the other's side, 
eager with her comfort. 

"Surely you mistake," she urged. "Why, my lord 
your father is even now expecting the company of the 
noble Marquis di Montferret. There are to be feastings, 
dancings, masques and hunting in the forest. This 
cannot be the scheming of a sick man." 

"When did my father ever think of self when he 
hopes to plan for my happiness?" replied Porta di 
Nerlini passionately. "Oh, I am sick at heart, Nerissa, 
and there is but one way of comfort. Presently you 
shall go and bid Balthazar and Stephano meet me at 
the side postern. I go to the Convent of St. Ursula to 
pray that my dear father's health may be restored." 

Nerissa 's black eyes widened in surprise, not un- 
mingled with alarm. 

She even ventured to protest. 

"It is a solitary road, lady, and full often bandits 
haunt the woods or lurk upon the hillside. Balthazar 
and Stephano are trusty knaves, but — but they would 
scarcely suffice in our defence if — if " 

But her mistress cut short the protest by clapping 
her hands sharply. 

"Go, Nerissa," she commanded, "do as I tell you. 
I am going to the convent to pray." 

Nerissa rose, curtsying obedience. "On foot, lady?" 
she questioned. 



A DANGEROUS EXPEDITION 13 

"Yes, on foot. Why! It is not two miles by way 
of the pine woods. Tell the men I shall be ready anon." 

Sweet and kindly though she was by nature, di Nerlini's 
daughter had early learned the art of ruling. Tender, 
she was at the same time dominant; proud, though 
gentle; and on occasion, self-willed. So Nerissa, hear- 
ing unalterable decision in those brief sentences, went 
her way reluctantly to give a message whose purport 
she inwardly disapproved. 

In that sixteenth century many turbulent rogues 
haunted the highways of every European country, and 
Italy was no exception. Armed banditti lurked for 
the unwary traveler and were ready enough to cut a 
throat for the price of a ducat. But the high-spirited 
Portia ignored such dangers in her set purpose to seek 
the convent and relief for her fears in the outpouring 
of prayers, which she felt would be so much more 
efficacious before St. Ursula's shrine than in the dim 
solitude of her own oratory. 

Rising from her couch she moved slowly across a room 
where love had been lavish in its gifts. Rich hangings 
of Eastern silks draped the doorways and windows, the 
walls were covered by the costliest arabesques, velvet 
couches and quaintly-carved stools were set in artistic 
daintiness about the apartment, whilst an inlaid table 
of rare mosaics was heaped with fine broideries and 
illuminated, manuscripts. 

Nor was the inner bed-chamber less luxurious. All 
that wealth and art could bestow was here employed to 
make fit setting for so rare a jewel — the most treasured 
of all Count di Nerlini's possessions. And fair she was, 
this blue-eyed daughter of his, as the long mirror before 
which she stood showed her. Hair the color of bur- 



14 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

nished gold was piled in soft curls about a queenly head, 
delicate features showed pride of race, whilst sweeping 
lashes only half veiled eyes which revealed the blue of 
slumbering lagoons in the midday sunshine. 

In her white robe girt by a crimson girdle she looked 
like some young goddess come from Olympian heights 
to bewilder men by a vision of queenly beauty which 
might set them dreaming of love beyond hope of requital. 

Love? Ah! She had heard the word whispered in 
the sighing of summer breezes amongst yonder dark 
pine trees, or in the song of the river which babbled of 
it as it flowed on to the sea — glimpses of which could 
be seen from the hill-top near. But, as yet, the word 
had no more meaning than such as dreams are made 
of, to the young daughter of di Nerlini. 

So far, the horizon of life was bounded by her father's 
sheltering care, and the first shadow had fallen with 
the fear of his secret sickness. 

Nerissa was back by this time, busy in wrapping the 
long black cloak about her mistress and twining the 
silken scarf about her bright tresses. 

For once the maid was silent, mumchance through 
anxiety, for she liked not the thought of this expedition 
which might end so disastrously for all. 

Closely wrapped and veiled, both girls stole swiftly 
down to the side postern, since wilful Portia knew well 
enough that her father would have forbidden the pur- 
chase of prayers at such a price. 

Near the door two men in blue liveries awaited. Fine, 
strapping fellows, quick-eyed and ready-fisted, with 
daggers in preparation for any creeping footpad. If 
they were surprised at their lady's command they did 
not show it, but followed closely along the path which 



A DANGEROUS EXPEDITION 15 

led to the shadow of the pine woods. Beyond these 
stretched an upward slope, long and toilsome, crowned 
by the gray Convent of St. Ursula. Here and there a 
purple fig tree stretched a canopy of broad leaves to 
screen the traveler from fierce sun rays, or a clump 
of gnarled mulberries added a picturesque touch to 
lichen-covered boulders strewing the ground where white 
Madonna lilies grew straight and tall, tempting Portia 
to linger and pluck them for a votive offering before 
a sweet saint's shrine. 

Birds sang their canticles of springtide in jubilee over- 
head — the world was surely a very joyous place this day. 
Already an anxious daughter felt her fears slip from her, 
as presently she returned down the hillside, refreshed 
with earnest prayer, and cheered by buoyant hope 
which is ever ready to play song-fellow to youth. 

It was life — not death — which surrounded Portia di 
Nerlini on such a day. Life and the joy of it, leaping 
in her breast, so that, flinging back the stifling folds of 
her hood in an ecstasy of delight, she stood for a moment, 
looking back up the track to where the gray convent 
stood like some shadowing peace above her. 

A cry from Nerissa was echoed by a still louder one 
from the attendants, who sprang forward with drawn 
daggers at sight of the men who came at a rush from 
the dark confines of a cypress grove to their right. 
Nerissa shrieked, seeing the flash of steel and hearing 
the croaking shouts of men growing gleeful at the 
thought of an easy prey. 

But Portia did not cry out. She also had her dagger, 
aye, and was ready to use it too. But alack! oppor- 
tunity was not afforded to prove the strength of that 
slim arm of hers, for a hulking ruffian, having spied a 



16 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

lovely uncovered face, had stolen quickly upon ^er 
from behind, kicking aside little Nerissa, who clung 
desperately about his booted legs, whilst he swung her 
mistress across his shoulder with a laugh and jest which 
sent all Portia's courage oozing through her finger tips. 

"Save me!" she shrieked. "Save me!" and so 
piteous was the appeal that Balthazar, fighting with his 
back to the straight stem of a pine tree, screamed aloud, 
flinging himself blindly upon his mocking adversaries. 

Yet his despair would have availed nothing had not 
answering cries rung merrily through the woods, and lo! 
our banditti, with no stomach for reversed odds, went 
flying helter-skelter back to their lairs, whilst Portia, 
dropped unceremoniously to earth, lay panting and 
sobbing in a delirium of terror, till strong arms girt her — 
more respectfully this time — and a deep, mellow voice 
bade her take courage since her enemies had fled. 

Portia, with tears still heavy on her lashes, looked 
up to see a tall gallant bowing low before her. A cloak 
of white taffeta was flung back from his shoulders, 
whilst the black doublet with its girdle of embossed 
silver marked him for a noble of Venice. 

In face he was handsome enough to attract the atten- 
tion of any woman, fair complexioned, with close- 
cropped brown hair, fine features, and gray eyes which 
told of a merry humor — though for the moment they 
were filled with a deep concern. 

"I would I had come sooner, lady," said he, in that 
musical voice of his, "and that I had punished the 
villains who thus molested you more summarily. But 
I waited, fearing you were hurt." 

The Lady Portia curtsied, rallying her wits as she 
saw that both Balthazar and Stephano lived, though 



A DANGEROUS EXPEDITION 17 

not without wounds to show for their pains, whilst little 
Nerissa was seated on a boulder near, in the care of a 
gallant belonging to this same company of rescuers. 

"I am the Lady Portia di Nerlini," she replied, with 
a dignity which lost nothing through the dishevelment 
of her clothes. "My father's self shall thank you, 
Messer, as do I for your opportune succor." 

The speech was stiff, but the lady's eyes were kind, 
and the little quiver of rosy lips went straight to her 
rescuer's heart. 

Again he bowed. 

"It is a favorable fate indeed, lady," he replied, 
"which brought me to your aid, since I, Bassanio Ram- 
berti, with my friend Gratiano Marmottina, ride in 
advance of the noble Marquis di Montferret to acquaint 
the Count di Nerlini of his coming." 

A radiant smile acknowledged the words. 

"My father, Messer, shall hold you no less welcome 
for having saved his daughter," quoth pretty Portia, 
and then, losing desire for conventional phrases, they 
fell to chatting more in accord with their youth, whilst 
Balthazar's and Stephano's wounds were bound, and 
Nerissa more wholly recovered from the shock of so 
terrible an adventure. 

Thus it happened that the Marquis di Montferret 
himself with his suite reached the spot where they 
lingered to find his messengers halting over a romantic 
adventure. 

A stately cavalier was this noble marquis, grizzled and 
middle-aged, yet strutting it still with all the pride of 
youth. He had heard of the beauty of Nerlini 's heiress, 
knew something too of the wealth which should some 
day be hers — and perhaps herein lay half the reason for 



18 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

his visit to Belmont. So he listened grudgingly to the 
lady's faltering account of his follower's service in so 
fair a cause, wishing he had been his own messenger 
since gratitude brought such tenderness to blue eyes 
and a soft flush to fair, rounded cheeks. If report had 
exaggerated as little concerning the lady's wealth as 
about her beauty, here was a prize indeed. 

Other messengers were quickly despatched to the 
castle, informing the count not only of his guest's 
approach but of his daughter's safety. An addition 
which perplexed di Nerlini in no small measure since he 
had fancied Portia was resting in her own apartments. 

Anxiety, therefore, as well as courtesy brought the old 
nobleman forth to welcome the marquis and embrace 
his pretty Portia, holding the latter to him with one 
circling arm, whilst he listened to a brief description 
of the fight in the pine woods. 

No wonder his face grew pale, whilst his eyes searched 
those of his daughter for explanation to this mystery. 

But courtesy to his visitors restrained the questions 
he was so eager to put as to what had taken place on 
so perilous a journey. 

Later, however, when the marquis and his suite had 
withdrawn to their apartments to remove the signs of 
travel from their persons and prepare for the evening's 
entertainment, he sought his daughter, rinding her in 
her boudoir with Nerissa before her, the latter spread- 
ing out a choice of jewels for her lady's wear. 

Di Nerlini opened his arms and Portia fled into their 
embrace. 

"Tell me?" he whispered, smoothing her bright hair 
with a hand which trembled slightly, "what took you 
so far from home to-day, carissima?" 



A DANGEROUS EXPEDITION 19 

She looked up at him, yearning in her eyes. 

"I went to the convent to pray, noble father," she 
whispered. "It has been in my heart these many days 
past that you are sick, though you laugh when I speak 
of it, not trusting me. And so I went to pray to the 
good God and His blessed saints to preserve the one 
who is father, mother, all to me." 

His eyes grew very tender, very pitying. 

"My little Portia," he replied, "my little daughter, 
who has been my greatest treasure all these years, it is 
not lack of trust, dear child, but because I would not 
have one shadow dim the brightness of your face. As 
to sickness, why, it is the friend who jogs along side 
by side with age. We must not fear such a companion, 
we who watch the sunset in the west. Aye, and were 
I sure that I could leave my treasure in safe keeping 
I should not fear the summons, but welcome it as the 
call of a friend long listened for." 

The girl shivered, as though from cold. 

"Do not speak so, dear father," she implored. " Death 
is far away. I prayed to-day that it should be so, and 
left white lilies on St. Ursula's shrine. The birds sang 
as I came down the hillside — and their song told of life — 
and prayer answered." 

He kissed her, long and tenderly, his arms folded 
about her as though he would fain shelter this fair 
blossom from the very shadow of trouble. 

"The saints were truly watching," quoth he, "else 
had my home been one of mourning indeed, to-night; 
we will not forget that in our prayers, little daughter. 
And now I leave you to robe for the festa. A queen 
with many subjects you will be. A queen." 

He watched the flushing face keenly, wondering 



20 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

whether it were merely youth's delight at the promise 
of revelry which brought an added sparkle to his child's 
eyes. 

If death were as near his own side as he deemed him 
to be, it was his one cherished desire to see Portia happily 
mated first, well knowing how greedy schemers and false 
suitors would be trooping to the wooing of the lovely 
heiress of Belmont. 

"The saints have her in their keeping," he murmured 
to himself as he passed down the gallery towards his 
own apartment; and as he spoke, he stretched his arms 
wide, feeling very sadly how impotent they were to 
protect the child he loved so passionately. 



N 



CHAPTER II 

THE JOY OF SPRINGTIDE 

" X,T ERISSA — m y Pearls." 

And Portia di Nerlini bent her golden 
head for the waiting-maid to fasten the 
gleaming rope of jewels round a neck no less white 
than the gems which lay there soft and shimmering, 
adding a last touch to the picture which the mirrors 
reflected. 

A queen — no less, in her gown of palest green satin 
with its wide sleeves hanging loose from the shoulder, 
showing the dainty undersleeves of white, laced with 
gold and pearl broideries. The whole dress seemed to 
blaze with jewels, whilst the high collar of lace, stretched 
upwards like a great fan, framed the wearer's little 
proud head with its towering pile of golden curls in 
which dainty ribbons, flowers and jewels were twined. 

Nerissa smiled slyly as she watched her mistress' 
critical gaze at her own fair reflection. 

"The Marquis di Montferret is a very proper gen tie- 
man," she observed, with the freedom of a proved 
confidant. 

The lady frowned, rearranging an errant curl. 

" 'Tis a pity," continued the maid, "that these nobles 
of Venice dress in so somber a fashion. Always black, 
black, black, with naught but the sparkle of a jewel 
or the silver glinting of a girdle to enliven their attire. 
For myself I prefer the splendor of my lord marquis." 

(21) 



22 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Portia di Nerlini laughed a little contemptuously. 

"Your birds need fine feathering/' she scoffed, "to 
hide other defects. For myself I find a black habit 
sets off a handsome face to best advantage." 

Nerissa's merry eyes twinkled. She was a pretty 
lass, for her own part, with a nose fashioned for pert- 
ness and lips for kisses. 

"Certes," said she, "Messer Ramberti is a handsome 
man, and gay too as I hear." 

Portia was round in a flash, playing the mistress 
with command in her tones. 

"Since your tongue's been wagging," she replied, 
"I'll hear who was your informant." 

None so demure as pretty Nerissa at sound of that 
voice. 

"Your pardon, lady," she murmured, her eyes down- 
cast. 

"It was by chance that I met the Signior Gratiano — 
friend to the Signior Ramberti — in the gallery just now. 
It was he who saved me when those foul brigands nearly 
murdered me as I lay swooning on the hillside; and — 
and — meeting me he but stayed to ask if I were re- 
covered." 

"Your recovery, girl," retorted her lady severely, 
"has little to do with a noble Signior's gayety. You 
shall explain your meaning." 

Nerissa hung her head. 

"I did but ask him — the Signior Gratiano," she whis- 
pered, "if all the Venetian nobili were as gallant and 
courteous as he and his friend; and therewith he told 
me tales of the gay doings which entertained them in 
that fair city, which he would have me believe was 
incomparable upon earth, so that — so that I said I would 



THE JOY OF SPRINGTIDE 23 

I and my mistress might go thither. Whereupon he 
enlarged still further of the merry doings which would 
follow our arrival, leaving me persuaded that he and the 
Signior Bassanio were very gay gallants." 

"And meantime," chided her mistress, "your duty 
went lagging. Out on you for a gossipmonger! And 
mind there be no more of it, since this gallant Signior's 
gayety may cost you dear." 

With which warning the lady went her way down 
the long passage leading to the marble staircase and wide 
halls below, leaving Nerissa laughing slyly and no whit 
humiliated by seeming displeasure. 

Had she not noted her mistress's added flush at the 
mention of Bassanio RambertFs name? 

There is that touch of romance in the proudest of 
natures which claims interest for one who has rendered 
gallant service. And downstairs the music played in 
joyous melody, scaring away that haunting shadow 
which had stolen hither in the silence and quietude, 
brooding there like some unwelcome trespasser to mar 
the peace of a sheltered home. 

But to-night who so gay as the Lady Portia? Who 
so eager for the dance and merry-making? She was 
the spirit of the springtime, laughing, beautiful, witty, 
a reigning queen at whose feet all men knelt in homage. 

Yet she grew weary presently, and so stole away out 
onto the moonlit balcony, where the scent of orange 
blossoms and roses lay sweet and pungent upon the 
night air. 

By her side was Messer Bassanio Ramberti, no less 
handsome in his somber suit of black than any other 
soldier in the train of my Lord Marquis. He was at 
pains too to prove that the nobles of Venice were not 



24 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

so dull of wit as of attire. His eager eyes sought those 
of the lady — and she did not find their admiration 
distasteful, though she had read the same approving 
glances on the face of the Marquis di Montferret himself. 

"Tell me of your Venice," she commanded, and 
paused, dallying with the pink carnation she held, 
listening first to the flooding of melody which a night- 
ingale poured forth from a myrtle grove close by. 

Then Bassanio spoke, and before her eyes was pictured 
a vision of that fair bride of the seas, with her deep 
lagoons — fathomless depths of blue waters — from which 
rose the stately palaces and fairy bridges spanning the 
waters of winding canals, linking each gorgeous color 
scheme with that panorama of dreaming loveliness 
which was Venice. 

The musical voice ceased. It was no longer of Venice 
that the gallant spoke. He touched a more personal 
note, telling how he had come from Arcadia to find 
Paradise. A paradise with but one angel — golden- 
crowned. 

Music of instruments, music of bird-song, music of 
voice, and a pair of gray eyes to complete the spell. 
What wonder that Portia di Nerlini smiled, wondering 
if this were the threshold of life on which she stood, 
and whether the fair mysteries beyond it were to be 
read in the kindling glances of gray eyes? 

Then came a jarring note. Her name was called. 
She must tread a measure with the noble Marquis di 
Montferret, in whose honor this festa was held. But 
she went reluctantly, more conscious now of weariness 
as she moved up the great room beside a grizzled 
cavalier, whose compliments fell on deaf ears. 

Lights flared in their silver sconces, laughter and music 



THE JOY OF SPRINGTIDE 25 

drifted to her from afar — she was tired, quite tired, 
and this Marquis di Montferret grew wearisome with 
his extravagant praises of her charms. 

She was almost glad when, in the dawn of a new 
day, she was free to retire to her rooms, where sleepy 
Nerissa waited, yawning, to unrobe her mistress before 
retiring to her own couch. 

But Bassanio Ramberti did not seek his couch with 
the dawning; instead, he walked by the banks of a 
gayly flowing river, watching the sun flame in the east, 
sending rosy heralds adrift over a primrose sky, whilst 
in his hand he held a carnation, which having been the 
gift of a fair lady should be honored even in death. 
And yet he too sighed, for all the glad awakening of 
life around, since was not the Lady Portia the only 
child and heiress of Count Pietro di Nerlini, for whose 
hand — and heart — the princes of the earth would be 
seeking? 

"But to me/' whispered the young man softly, as 
he halted on the mossy bank, following with somber 
eyes the foaming trail of the river's current as it swirled 
past him, "golden tresses are more than golden ducats, 
and one smile from rosy lips more precious than all 
the jewels of the world." 

Was there mockery in the river-song which echoed 
his words — seeing that Bassanio Ramberti, being the 
most reckless of Venice's younger nobles and soldiers, 
had very constant need of ducats and this world's 
goods. 

Dreamings by moonlight; dreamings in a springtime 
dawn — they must fade, the one and the other, in full 
glare of day. 

And so it happened, in the ordinary turn of events, 



26 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

that the Marquis di Montferret, taking a very courteous 
leave of his host and tender one of his young hostess, 
rode away from Belmont on his road to Verona, carrying 
with him two disconsolate gentlemen of Venice, who 
were each equally convinced that he left his heart 
behind him in the care of a fair woman, since Messer 
Gratiano Marmottina had found the maid Nerissa no 
less attractive than his friend had seen the mistress. 

And here lay a truth as old as this gray old world of 
ours. Since if a man look at a woman in the way of 
love he cares not at all if she be a queen — and so, far 
away in the clouds above him — or a kitchen wench, 
whose hands may be stained by honest toil, and her 
station so humble that he must abase his pride in 
stooping to the level of lips in whose sweetness all else 
is forgotten. 

But when the gay company had gone, the palace of 
the Count di Nerlini seemed emptier than before its 
coming, and in dreaming of a handsome gallant who had 
so romantically entered her life yonder near a whisper- 
ing cypress grove, the Lady Portia forgot to look for 
the shadow which before had haunted corridors and 
galleries, sending her grief-stricken to pray at St. 
Ursula's shrine in the gray convent on the hill. Yet, 
had she had eyes to see it, the shadow was still there, 
stalking grim and unforbidden to pass behind silken 
hangings and screening tapestries till it reached the 
side of a man who sat with bent head and saddened 
eyes, listening to the approach of inexorable feet. It 
was death who stood in the shadows and would not 
be denied. 

Count Pietro di Nerlini knew that, and with a patient 
sigh of acquiescence gave up the hope of placing his 



THE JOY OF SPRINGTIDE 27 

cherished treasure in safe keeping ere he went forth 
to meet his Emilia, who in giving him that guarded 
treasure had herself passed into the Great Beyond. 

But the eyes which looked forward into Eternity 
grew wise. 

Father and mother both had Count Pietro been to 
his little Portia, and it was scarcely a week since he 
had realized she was a woman grown. 

The knowledge had come to him that evening when 
he had watched her pass by on the arm of a somberly- 
dressed gallant to where the moonlight played upon the 
tesselated pavement of a balcony. Wearily he sighed, 
as he wrote that which might serve to shield his daughter 
from those who would seek not her but her fortune. 

"They shall be tried," quoth Count Pietro to himself. 
"So that their choice shall prove them and their vows. 
If Heaven answers prayer my child's happiness shall 
be thus assured." 

He smiled then, having finished the careful writing 
in which he had been engaged — three slender rolls of 
parchment bound and sealed. Rising, he drew back 
silken curtains disclosing a shelf on which stood three 
caskets. Within each casket he placed a parchment 
roll, and turned the key in every lock. Afterwards he 
walked back to his seat, with the air of a man who has 
finished his task. It was there that, later, a servant 
found him, his head resting back against the carved 
woodwork of his seat, a pleasant smile upon his noble 
features. 

The Count Pietro di Nerlini was dead — yet death 
had come so peacefully and in such friendly guise that 
his daughter could only weep with hushed breath, and 
the knowledge that though the lilies were scarcely faded 



28 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

yet on St. Ursula's shrine her prayers had been answered. 
It was life she had asked for the father she loved so 
fondly — and life had been the gift bestowed. 

But because the life was that of immortality she 
could not restrain the tears of a great loneliness, dread- 
ing to look out upon a future which appeared so full of 
difficulties and darkness. 

If only she had someone — besides little Nerissa — to 
whom she might turn for advice and help! The tears 
welled in the girl's eyes again at the thought, which, 
drifting wide of its mark, dwelt half-consciously on a 
gray-eyed gallant to whom she had given a pink car- 
nation. She wondered whether Bassanio Ramberti in 
his gay revelings had bestowed a second thought on 
the donor. 

The color dyed her pale cheeks at the suggestion of 
her heart. Did not the night winds, moaning amongst 
straight-stemmed cypresses, tell her that Bassanio 
Ramberti would come no more to Belmont? 



CHAPTER III 

THE REVEIERS 

** A TOAST/' cried Niccolo Grimani, raising his 
r\ goblet high so that the white rays of moon- 
light showed the ruddy color of wine through 
the delicate tracery of engraving on the glass. "Come, 
you shall all drink it, my friends; to Portia di Nerlini, 
the heiress of that Count Pietro whose soul, no doubt, 
rests in the purifying fires of Purgatory." 

And the young noble crossed himself before tossing 
off the contents of the brimming goblet. He, with three 
or four friends, amongst whom was Bassanio Ramberti, 
were seated lounging on a balcony of his stately palazzo 
in Venice. Small tables, on which were placed wine 
flasks, goblets and heaped dishes of fruits, stood close 
to the elbow of each guest, whilst through open case- 
ments the sound of gay voices came drifting from an 
inner room; the rattle of dice and an occasional oath 
suggesting the occupation of these other visitors to the 
Palazzo Grimani. It was a fair night, and from the 
balcony could be seen the deep waters of the lagoon, 
on which the moonlight played, whilst every palazzo 
in Venice appeared to be gleaming with many lights. 
Music of revelers returning from a masque came float- 
ing across the waters, and into view glided a train of 
iUuminated barges and gondolas, with rows of colored 
lamps of every tint and shape slung to the square rods 
of the awnings, the slim figures of the gondoliers showing 

(29) 



30 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

plainly in their holiday dress of white, with parti- 
colored sashes looped up at the sides. 

Grimani, leaning over the crimson cushions of the 
balcony, cried some gay jest to the master of the masque, 
and was answered by laughter and quip as the pleasure- 
seekers parsed on out of sight. 

Niccolo Grimani turned back, smiling to his guests. 

"You've drunk my toast?" he questioned. 

A comrade yawned, refilling his glass. 

"Aye, Nicco mio," he retorted, "and would hear 
more of the lady. Is she fair, or rich, that you should 
dwell so lovingly on her name?" 

"Corpo di Bacco! What a question! But I forgive 
you, poor Pietro, since you have been sweltering all the 
summer through in Rome, whilst we have dreamed 
here in Venice. And what dream could be more fair 
than Portia di Nerlini?" 

"Ah," retorted the other, "then she is fair?" 

"As a goddess — rich also — moreover an orphan." 

"Diavolo!" chuckled his friend. "You will send me 
a- wooing in earnest." 

"Why, that is what we are all doing," mocked 
Grimani. "But there are difficulties in the way of win- 
ning this lady and her fortune. Have you not heard 
the tale?" 

Bassanio Ramberti leaned forward. He too had been 
away from Venice during the summer months and had 
but lately returned. Niccolo's words reminded him of 
a spring idyll and how, having saved a very fair lady 
from marauding bandits, she had shown him much 
favor. Had he not still treasured a faded carnation 
given him by Portia di Nerlini? He thought now of 
the hour in which that gift had been bestowed — an 



THE REVELERS 31 

hour of sweet dreaming on a moonlit balcony with the 
warbling of nightingales for music, and the loveliness 
of a fair lady to gaze upon. 

Portia di Nerlini! Golden-haired Portia, a goddess 
indeed, in her clinging robes of green and white, her 
perfect face slightly upraised to his so that he might 
steal a sight of blue eyes, deeper in hue than summer 
skies, yet alight with a hundred joys. 

Had sorrow drowned that joy-light since? He had 
not heard of the Count di Nerlini 's death, but then he 
had been away, first in Verona, then Rome, his life so 
crowded by business and pleasure that a brief visit to 
the palazzo at Belmont had drifted into the background 
of his thoughts. 

But he listened eagerly now, as Niccolo Grimani, 
cross-legged on his cushioned seat, told his tale. 

"Di Nerlini died suddenly/' the young man was 
saying, "leaving great wealth and one fair daughter — 
our gracious Portia — behind him, as a legacy to the 
fortunate suitor who should win both. But it appears 
that, fearing he might not live to choose the husband 
of his child, Count Pietro devised a scheme which I 
vow adds zest to the quest of lovelorn swains. Three 
caskets, one of gold, another of silver, a third of lead, 
stand for the choice of him who seeks fair Portia. He 
who chooses that casket which contains the lady's 
picture wins a rich and lovely bride; but if he chooses 
wrong he may woo no more, since first he must have 
vowed that in the event of failure he will never speak 
word of marriage to her or any other maid again, nor 
divulge the secret of his choice of casket." 

Bassanio caught his breath in a low gasp of amaze. 

"And the lady is not plighted yet?" he asked. 



32 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"No, by my faith/' retorted Grimani. "Till yester- 
day she was as free as air, though the train of suitors 
does not slacken or wane. She is rich — very rich — 
amico mio, and as fair and chaste as Diana. To-morrow, 
no later, I myself go to stake my chance on those caskets. 
You shall drink again to my success — unless indeed you 
desire to try your own fortune." 

"No wooing for me/' mocked another of the little 
group. 

"I am vowed to a single life and a merry one. Come, 
Nicco, let us see how the game goes within?" 

All rose, standing there, a somber little group amidst 
gay surroundings. Above them an orange-colored awn- 
ing flapped softly in the night breezes, crimson cushions 
lay upon the balcony, whilst pots of flowers added an- 
other scheme of soft pink and white. The Venetian 
noble had scope for his love of color in everything but 
dress, but the laws concerning the latter were rigidly 
regulated by a college existing for that purpose. 

According to these laws, a noble Venetian must have 
eight cloaks, three for masques, one of which was for 
the spring festa of the Ascension, when the Doge mar- 
ried the sea. In addition to these they had two of 
white taffeta for summer, one of blue cloth for winter, 
one of white cloth for great occasions, one of scarlet 
cloth for the days of church ceremonial. For the rest 
their doublets were uniformly black, girt with a girdle 
embossed with silver, open collars, showing the diamond 
button of their shirt stock, and round black caps fringed 
with wool. 

The law had the advantage of thus saving the extrava- 
gant from lavish expenditure in dress, though the result 
was shown in the costly furnishing of the palaces of 
the richer nobles. 



THE REVELERS 33 

The room which the young men entered was a strik- 
ing example of this love of display. Marble statues, 
rich hangings, exquisite pictures, showed Niccolo Gri- 
mani's tastes, whilst in the center of the apartment a 
group of some seven men were gathered about a table 
of wonderful mosaics, intent on their dicing. 

The newcomers, greeted by a shout of welcome, were 
speedily involved in the game, and for the next few 
hours the play went on, the monotonous rattle of the 
dice broken by the cries, laughter and oaths of the 
players, who drank, gambled and jested till far into 
the night. 

They would probably be playing when dawn broke, 
but one at least could not remain till then. Bassanio 
Ramberti had entered that room resolved only to watch 
the hazard. Already broken in fortune by reckless 
extravagance, he had been haunted for weeks past by 
the grim shadow of debt. What would the future hold 
for this gay young soldier? He had asked himself the 
question and groaned over the answer, since ruin and 
he were likely enough to be bedfellows ere long. His 
estates must go, his palace be sold, he himself finding 
it necessary to seek fortune in the wars which in the 
sixteenth century were always convulsing some part of 
Europe. 

So he had watched, gloomy-eyed, seeing haggard faces 
brighten, and gay ones grow glum over the chances of 
the game; and always at the back of his mind he was 
thinking of the tale Niccolo Grimani had told just now 
of how Portia di Nerlini, whose image he still carried 
in his heart, was alone and orphaned in that fair palazzo 
of hers, and that her hand — perhaps her heart— was to 
be won on a hazard before which the issues of this dare- 



34 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

devil dicing grew pigmy-like and insignificant. If he 
could but go to Belmont! 

With a mocking laugh he leaned forward and joined 
the game. 

If fortune smiled, lining that lean purse of his with 
golden ducats, he would start for Belmont without 
delay. His heart beat high with hope — and fortune 
seemed to smile. 

His pile of ducats grew. His dream grew nearer 
realization. Then, alas! fortune turned her back upon 
his hope. With paling cheeks and hardening eyes he 
played on. But the dawn had not broken before the 
end came — for him. 

"My last ducat, friends," he cried glibly, as he rang 
down the coin on the table. "And so — good-night 
to all." 

He gazed round at the ring of eager faces, flushed by 
wine and the excitement of their play. 

Niccolo Grimani protested at his words. 

"Nay, nay, good Bassanio," he urged. "You'll not 
leave us? Here, let me be your banker once more." 

He held out a silken purse, heavy with ducats, but 
Bassanio shook his head. 

"I am already too deep in debt," he replied gloomily. 
"Nor dare I risk the smiles of a jade who holds me 
cheap to-night." 

So, bowing, he left them, going slowly down the wide 
staircase alone, leaving his friends too immersed in their 
gambling to express more than a parting regret at his 
departure. 

A broken man? They did not believe it. To-morrow 
their Bassanio would be swaggering on the Piazza with 
the best of them. It was only to-night that his pockets 



THE REVELERS 35 

were empty. Thus, if they thought of him at all, 
reasoned Bassanio Ramberti's friends, whilst he himself 
came down the marble steps of the palace, pausing at 
the water's edge to summon a gondola. 

Waiting there, in vain at first, the young man fell to 
a dreaming which had its haunting of grim nightmare. 

Far off in the distance he could hear the murmur of 
the waters lapping against the girdling sea wall. It drifted 
across the still lagoon like the droning of bees in summer 
time, whilst nearer at hand came the rhythmic dipping 
of oars as the great galleys, rowed by sweating slaves, 
made their way from Chioggia to Venice with their daily 
freight of fresh water. 

The music of a guitar, played very softly beneath 
some beauty's balcony, came from a distant canal, 
accompanied by the mellow notes of a man's song. 
From where he stood on the steps of the palace Bas- 
sanio could hear the impassioned words with which an 
importunate lover wooed his mistress. 

" Voleme ben, che sa 6 sempre vostro, 
Sine che durera l'aria del cielo, 
Sino che durera pena e l'ingiostro. . . " 

Did the lady dream on, deaf to that call of love, or 
was she standing, white-robed and blushing, her soft 
cheek pressed against the barring shutter which pres- 
ently she would open to send some token fluttering down 
to the singer's feet — or even permit him a swift glimpse 
of the beauty he desired? 



While pen and ink endure, I'll leave thee never; 
Love me but well; I will be thine forever. 



36 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Bassanio sighed. Alas! his dream of love was over, 
since, beggared and broken, how could he go to the 
lady of his hopes — a suitor who would — as it seemed — 
fill his purse at the expense of hers? 

And yet — if he could! Would not the years to come 
prove his devotion? 

To one of Bassanio Ramberti's optimistic nature 
hope was a boon companion. He could not brook 
despair, and already hummed the refrain of that ardent 
lover's song as he stepped into the gondola whose com- 
ing at last rewarded his patience. There was always 
to-morrow — and Portia di Nerlini was still unplighted. 

"If Antonio Cainello will but play his part of ever- 
ready friend once more," vowed Bassanio, "then will I 
forswear my sins and sail forthwith for Belmont — and 
the Lady Portia." 

He was wondering how he could have let those sum- 
mer months pass by with so little thought of her. Was 
it possible she had thought of him? He dared not 
believe it — though he pressed a dead carnation to his 
lips as he stood at his chamber window, watching the 
dawn break in the east. 



CHAPTER IV 

ON THE PIAZZA SAN MARCO 

THE Piazza San Marco was thronged by a holiday 
crowd. What medley of color was here! Red, 
yellow, green, blue and pink, a veritable rain- 
bow, embracing every hue and shade, whilst here and 
there the black dress of a noble gave a sober touch to 
the jostling throng of gayly-attired citizens and peasants. 
Here a dark-eyed flower girl did brisk trade with her 
roses and carnations, whilst at another spot a juggling 
clown held the crowd. Vendors of fruit and refresh- 
ments of all kinds bargained and smiled, readier to-day 
with a jest than a scowl, whilst gorgeously decked 
barges and gondolas went gliding by, filled with merry- 
makers. 

It was noontide, and the whole spot was basking in 
golden light. The Byzantine mosaics of the great 
church shone like jewels, whilst its pinnacles and spires 
lifted up their white beauty to the blue heavens, an 
iris-hued cloud of pigeons circling around the topmost 
tower, crowned by a platform upon which was a bell — 
two bronze figures called i Mori striking the hour with 
great hammers. 

This tower had been built in 1496 by Coducci of 
Bergamo, to receive the wondrous clock fashioned three 
years before by Paolo Raimeri, which, besides marking 
the hours, the zodiacal signs, the phases of the moon, 
and the month and day of the year, boasted an ingenious 

(37) 



38 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

piece of mechanism by which, on certain festivals, the 
figures of the Magi, preceded by an angel with a trum- 
pet, issued from the interior of the clock, passing before 
the Madonna, to whom each bowed. - 

The whole Piazza had been re-paved by order of the 
late Doge, Girolamo Priuli, and the Senate had caused 
to be removed all the shops of notaries, dentists and 
barbers, which had clung round the columns of the 
Ducal Palace, together with all the benches, boxes, 
chests and cases, which formerly encumbered the colon- 
nade of the palace itself. Workmen were even now 
busy over the demolition of the ancient hospital of San 
Marco which stood in the same line as the Campanile. 
Venice indeed was at the height of her glory, and her 
governors and citizens were intent on adding to the 
magnificence of her buildings and the strength of her 
position. 

Not far from the quays, leaning against a low marble 
wall, stood a man, still young, though his closely trimmed 
beard and the sober richness of his attire added unduly 
to his years. By his dress he was evidently of the mer- 
chant class rather than that of the nobili, whilst his 
handsome features were dignified by an expression of 
grave reserve which deepened now into sadness as he 
looked out over the sparkling waters, marking but not 
heeding the busy plying of the gondoliers and the gay 
chatter of those who stood upon the quays. 

Voices at his elbow roused him from a contemplative 
mood, to find two friends ready with their greeting. 

"Dreaming of your argosies, Messer Antonio?" cried 
the younger of the two. "Such should be my wager, 
since never did I hear of bright eyes winning an answer- 
ing smile from Antonio Cainello!" 



ON THE PIAZZA SAN MARCO 39 

"Though tales of suffering never yet found an in- 
attentive listener in him," added the elder, resting his 
hand in friendly fashion on the young merchant's 
shoulder. 

"But what ails our Antonio that we find him sad?" 

Antonio Cainello smiled. "Forsooth I know not 
why I am so sad," he confessed; "it wearies me indeed 
to seek its meaning, so out of place it seems on such 
a day." 

And he looked round at the thronging crowd, with a 
kindly glance for a black-eyed child who lagged in the 
heat, blinking solemnly at him at first, then dimpling 
as one who sees a friend. 

For Messer Salanio had spoken truth when he said 
that the sorrowing or suffering together with every 
innocent child found a sympathizer in Antonio Cainello, 
though beauty might try her arts and crafts in vain. 

"A fair day truly," agreed Salarino, placing his hand 
on his hip, whilst turning to stare at a blue-eyed nymph 
who had raised the corner of her veil just high enough 
to show him a pretty, laughing face. "But for myself 
I do not wonder at your clouded brow. With so much 
at stake I should tremble every time the wind blew, 
fearing the wreckage of my wealth and enterprise." 

The three were pacing together down the Piazza, 
heedless of jostling sightseers. Far overhead the great 
hammers of bronze struck the hour of noon, whilst 
downward swooped the pigeons in eager circles, search- 
ing for crumbs on the pavement below — then upward 
winging on discovery of an unwelcome crowd. 

"I thank my fortune," quoth Antonio clamly, "that 
my ventures are not all launched in one frail barque, 
so I have less fear of disaster. I confess it is not my 
merchandise that makes me sad." 



40 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"Why, then," cried Salarino, returning from too bold 
a quest of the blue-eyed little citizeness, "you are in 
love." 

Antonio shook his head, his dark eyes very serious, 
so that even the gay Salarino scoffed at his own sug- 
gestion. "Not in love, neither," he echoed. 

"Then let's say you are sad because you are not 
merry, and 'twere as easy for you to laugh, leap and say 
you are merry because you are not sad. Come, Salanio, 
I'm for the Rialto. Will you accompany us, Messer 
Antonio?" 

"As you will," replied the other, making brave effort 
to shake off that unnamed despondency, which to 
Salarino's lighter nature seemed so foolish a thing. 

Passing from the Piazza by the street called Mer- 
ceria, they came upon the no less lively and far busier 
scene of the Rialto, the emporium of Venetian commerce 
and meeting place of shopkeepers and traders. Here the 
people swarmed under the porticos of the market, by 
the buildings of the Scorpagnino, amongst the benches 
of the fish market and the baskets and chests of the 
fruit sellers. Here were grouped chattering throngs of 
vendors and buyers, in their picturesque dresses, gay- 
colored handkerchiefs tied over their heads or knotted 
about their throats, whilst the vivid orange of the 
pumpkins, scarlet of pomegranates, and purple heaping 
of grapes, added to the blaze of color. At the landings 
were moored the boats, laden with vegetables from the 
islands and mainland, whilst merry laughter and quick 
rallying of wit told that business was being conducted 
for the main part in a spirit of good fellowship and 
mutual satisfaction. 

Salarino and Salanio soon moved away, engaging in 



ON THE PIAZZA SAN MARCO 41 

eager converse each about his own particular affairs, 
leaving Antonio Cainello standing as a kindly spectator 
of a familiar scene, till once more his cloak was plucked 
by friendly fingers and he turned to find Bassanio Ram- 
berti with his two friends, Gratiano Marmottina and 
Lorenzo Fortunato beside him. The two latter linked 
arms as soon as the formal salutation had been exchanged. 

"My lord Bassanio," quoth Lorenzo, a merry fellow 
whose auburn locks and blue eyes had won him many 
a heart in his time, "since you have found Antonio, 
we two will leave you; but do not forget that at dinner- 
time we must meet." 

Bassanio nodded. He was looking pale and weary 
this morning, ill-attuned to the revelry of the holiday, 
whilst his gray eyes had the anxious look of a man in 
sore need of counsel. 

Antonio Cainello looked at him tenderly. They two 
were friends, not as the world counts friendship, but 
owning a closer bond, which in Antonio's case surpassed 
and out- valued that of any other. 

"I have been to your house, Antonio," said Bassanio, 
holding out his hand, "and they told me I should find 
you upon the Piazza San Marco, or perchance in the 
church itself. I am glad I have found you at last." 

He turned to look after his late comrades. Still 
linked arm in arm, the two young men had paused 
beside the stall of a pretty flower-seller, and were bar- 
gaining with sly chafnngs for roses. 

Perhaps the sight of the flowers reminded Bassanio 
of his purpose, reluctant though he seemed to name it. 

Antonio saw his hesitation and half guessed its cause. 

"The Rialto," said he, with a grave smile, "is scarcely 
the spot for confidences. You shall come home with 
me, Bassanio, and tell me all your mind." 



42 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"I will," cried the other impulsively. "You are my 
friend, Antonio, and you shall hear a tale which has 
much of folly in it, something of repentance and very 
little of hope. You must forgive me that petition is 
added to it all." 

"Is there need of such a question," replied the mer- 
chant gently, "between friends?" 

It was some way from the Rial to to St. Maria dell' 
Orto, where stood the house of Antonio Cainello, a 
house with balconies and curiously arched windows, 
speaking, even from without, of a wealthy owner of 
artistic temperament. The ironwork of the balconies 
was cut into arabesques of the lightest but most intricate 
designs, the walls themselves were of inlaid marble, 
whilst along the facade on a level with the second story 
from the water was an alto-relievo of great antiquity. 
Leaving the gondola at the steps, Antonio led his com- 
panion into the house. Sober richness of furniture, 
hangings and carpets was noticeable everywhere, seem- 
ing well in accord with the self-contained, quiet owner, 
whose library showed rare taste without any sign of 
that extravagant luxury which characterized the palazzo 
of Niccolo Grimani. 

"Now," said Antonio quietly, "you shall give me a 
friend's confidence, Bassanio mio." 

He was looking across to where the young noble had 
flung himself down on a cushioned embrasure of the 
window, his fair head resting back against a green velvet 
curtain, the sunlight glinting across his handsome face. 
And, as he looked, the merchant leaned his elbow on the 
table at his side, shading his eyes with his hand, as though 
the sunshine dazzled them ; whilst, waiting for his friend 
to speak, his thoughts flew like winged spirits back 



ON THE PIAZZA SAN MARCO 43 

through the dead years till memory's vision showed 
him this Bassanio 's twin sister, fair Bianca Ramberti, 
beautiful, gentle, saintly, who had probably never 
guessed that her brother's friend, the young merchant 
from the Rialto, had loved her with that love which, 
still and silent as hidden pools, possessed a depth which 
fiercer passion, like mountain torrents, lacked. 

So she had passed from the sight of an unknown lover 
to be shrouded forever from the gaze of men behind 
the gray walls of a convent. There she had died, still 
young, leaving behind her a memory like a track of 
light leading upwards to the very presence of God. 

To Antonio she was as some sweet saint, possessing 
once and forever the shrine of his heart — that inmost 
shrine wherein he dared not often look, though, because 
he knew whose image it contained, his love to Bassanio 
Ramberti was something more than mere friendship. 

Bianca loved Bassanio, consciously, dearly, more 
closely than any earthly love had bound her. So, for 
dear Bianca's sake, Antonio would have died for Bas- 
sanio, and for the man himself he cherished deep love, 
so that he would have been a patient listener to any tale 
his friend had for his ear. 

Yet to Bassanio it was hard to voice this confession 
of folly. Born to a rich heritage, he had lived extrava- 
gantly, spent lavishly and gambled not infrequently, 
though as a rule games of skill such as chess or tarrochi 
interested him more than the reckless hazard of dice. 

"You know me so well, Antonio," he began, "and 
have very often told me of my faults, in the way of 
friendship, so that you will guess which way my folly 
has led me. Alas! — how differently we should act if, 
in our foolishness, we could possess one grain of after- 
wisdom." 



44 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

He sighed wearily, whilst, through that dimly lighted 
room, ghosts passed him by — ghosts of the follies whose 
reckoning he must pay, mocking and gibing as they 
stood in swelling array with greedy, outstretched hands. 

Was he not debtor to them all? and most of all to 
this grave, kindly friend, who, from childhood's days, 
had always been so staunch and true to him? Mad 
had he been, and thrice cursed fool to act as he had done. 

But the gate of the past is closed to all who would 
go back along the path — only our acts come stalking 
forth to bear us company in the future. Seated there, 
Bassanio saw all that foolish picture of misspent years. 

Left young an orphan, he had been dazzled by his 
own wealth, whilst pride of possession craving for 
popularity and an unrestrained hunger after enjoyment 
had launched him on a treacherous sea. 

Who so gay as handsome Bassanio Ramberti? Who 
so reckless, so prodigal, so generous? His masques had 
been as famous as his feasts, whilst the splendor of his 
palace was unrivaled. 

Thus for a time; then gradual reduction of fortune, 
less frequent entertainments, more zest in his soldiering, 
a quickening of that sense of manhood and responsi- 
bility, with brief lapses when temptation touched him, 
as it had done no later than last night. 

" Being in debt," said he, "not only to you, Antonio, 
but to less kindly creditors, I resolved to win a fortune 
in a night, so that I might be free to sail to Belmont — 
and the lady of my dreams." 

His voice — hard when he had spoken of his reckless 
follies — softened at the thought of Portia and an all- 
too-brief idyll of spring. 

"You love?" asked Antonio gently — and, looking 



ON THE PIAZZA SAN MARCO 45 

back once more, saw lovely Bianca in golden robes, stand- 
ing upon the marble steps of her brother's palace, 
soft veiling framing a face so fair and sweet that the 
man who had watched her felt he could sooner kneel in 
prayer than dare to touch the rosy fragrance of her 
lips. Yet now, after many years, he could grow pitiful 
over another's tale of love. 

"Why, yes," cried Bassanio hotly, "and, fool that I 
was, rode away, leaving my lady yet unwon. Aye, 
rode away in Montferret's train, idling at Verona through 
half a June, then traveling on to Rome to spend months 
whose golden moments might have been lived in Portia's 
presence. 

"Would it have availed? I dare not ask, since mock- 
ing voices call down the wind, 'Lost, lost, lost!'" 

"And she is wed?" asked Antonio gently. 

Bassanio shook his head, telling in brief the story 
which Grimani had recounted. 

"No day passes," he added, "without suitors pre- 
senting themselves at her palace. If I delay, another 
will win the jewel which I failed to take when it lay 
beneath my hand." 

"Why then delay, poor Bassanio?" 

The young man gave a gesture of despair. 

"Last night, instead of winning the fortune I sought," 
he retorted, "I lost what remained of all my patrimony. 
Niccolo Grimani hath my last ducat, and vows he'll go 
a-wooing on his own account." 

"It is money you lack?" murmure^ /intonio. He 
was realizing what request it must be which came so 
haltingly to Bassanio's lips. 

Even as he spoke he saw the deep flush dye the other's 
cheeks. 



46 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

It is ill work for pride to play the beggar — and Bas- 
sanio had the added sting of being already a debtor. 

Yet his need was great, his longing suddenly quickened 
to passion as he thought of the Lady Portia 

Even now others, greedy for her fortune, bearing 
her little love for her sweet self, would be visiting Bel- 
mont to try the hazard of their fortunes. Surely the 
lady's father had been too near death to think discreetly 
when he set his child's happiness to such a testing. 

"Three thousand ducats," muttered Bassanio, "three 
thousand ducats, so that I may seek my fortune in my 
lady's eyes?" 

Antonio smiled. 

This was the same Bassanio as of old. Impetuous, 
unlearned in fair discretion, impatient now his purpose 
clamored fully grown within. Gold he needed, for 
revelry and state; so, setting to his wooing as my Lord 
Bassanio — though at another man's expense. 

Yet, for all his improvidence, the man's nature was 
so lovable, so full of good intent, needing only the 
ballast of some great love or grief, that Antonio did 
not hesitate. 

"You know me well, amico mio," he replied, "and 
understand well enough how my love would serve you. 
But I too must explain a difficult case. Money for the 
moment I have little or none. A thousand ducats 
to-day would be as difficult for me to touch as three. 
My argosies are all abroad. This is a year of ventures 
for me — I dare hope a year of wealth. But at present I 
am poor. These ships of mine sail far over many seas — 
one to Mexico, another to England, a third to Tripoli, 
a fourth to the Indies. I have staked my fortune on 
these ventures since fate could never be so cruel as to 



ON THE PIAZZA SAN MARCO 47 

make shipwrecks of them all. Yet, let us think of 
present need, instead of building on future princely 
fortunes. Three thousand ducats!'' 

Bassanio 's face was pale. He had not anticipated 
this failure, and suddenly a rosy future grew dark. 

"Three thousand ducats — and my hopes of Portia," 
he said hoarsely. "I cannot go to her as a beggar." 

Haughty pride was in arms at the thought. If he 
went to Belmont at all, he must go equipped as a Vene- 
tian soldier and noble. 

Antonio raised his hand. 

"You shall have them," he replied. "Do not fear. 
On the Rialto men talk of my argosies, and prophesy 
wealth for Antonio Cainello. So I have credit in the 
city. Come, Bassanio, you shall go without delay. 
Find where money is and so return. Some rich usurer 
you are sure to find to take my bond. Ere many hours 
are passed you shall be furnished with fortune enough 
to seek fortune." 

Bassanio sprang to his feet, his gray eyes kindling 
with hope once more. 

"You promise me this, friend?" he cried. "Santa 
Maria! Need I have doubted for one moment? And 
you shall be repaid, Antonio, not only in ducats, but 
love and gratitude — when fair Portia weds with me." 

Antonio looked up at him as he stood, slim, graceful, 
handsome, in the sunlight which flecked his brown hair 
and fair complexion. He was so confident, this young 
lover, thinking nothing of others' failure in his own 
certainty of success. 

To-day the world was rose-lit to Bassanio Ramberti, 
and his friend was glad that it should be so. For him- 
self he was content to dwell in the shadows, looking 



48 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

back rather than forward, yet neither whining nor com- 
plaining because, for love's sake, he must travel the road 
of life alone. 

At least he could find joy and an abiding pleasure 
in bringing the sunshine he had once coveted for him- 
self into other lives. 

"Go," he said, smiling, "find me a creditor, Bassanio. 
And together we will claim from him ducats which 
shall pave the golden road to love." 



I 



CHAPTER V 

THE HOUSE OF THE JEW 

^^1f T is a child, Signior; she brings a basket of figs 
for your acceptance. A poor child, unfit to 
bring into the presence of your nobility." 

Old Paolo spoke contemptuously as though grudging 
to bring the news at all. 

But Antonio Cainello was instant in his reply. 

"She shall come and see me/' he said, with quiet 
rebuke in his voice. "Tell her to bring her figs with 
her, Paolo." 

The servant shuffled off, muttering. He loved his 
master, but was often inclined to grumble at him. 
Why, indeed, should so wealthy a man live in a house 
in the Via St. dell' Orto instead of in a palace? And 
why should he be content with two humble servitors 
when he might possess a regiment of lackeys? 

Had he put these questions to Messer Antonio, the 
latter would have smiled, replying he was content 
enough with life. A virtue which Paolo did not share. 

He was an eternal grumbler, this old man, and nearly 
frightened pretty little Gemma to death as she meekly 
followed him up the stairs with as much awe as though 
she went to the presence of a king. 

But her fears subsided when she found herself face to 
face with a Signior whose dark eyes were quite as kind 
as those of old Father Sylvester, to whom she confessed 
once every month. 

4 (49) 



50 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"Ah, little one/' said Antonio gently, seeing how 
the child's face flushed and paled, "so you have come 
to visit me and bring me those beautiful figs? But 
that is very kind. And will you also tell me your 
name?" 

She advanced slowly towards him, clasping her basket 
very fast, and looking at him all the time with such 
big, wondering eyes, that he smiled again in amuse- 
ment. 

"I am Gemma Scappini, lord," she whispered, "and 
these figs came to us from our cousin who lives near 
Padua. They are very fine figs." 

There was pride in the soft voice, whilst she lifted a 
broad leaf from the top of the basket to show the 
luscious fruit beneath. 

"But if they were a present from your cousin why 
do you wish me to have them?" asked the merchant 
kindly. "Do you not like figs, little Gemma?" 

"Oh, yes," said the child, "but these are for you. 
My father would have brought them himself but he 
is sick in bed, and he told me to come here and to tell 
you that always, always we pray for the good Signior 
Cainello, who saved him from prison and all of us from 
starvation." 

She gave a little eloquent gesture, tears stealing to 
her brown eyes. 

"It was Shylock the Jew who would have put him in 
prison," she went on, breathlessly. "Do you not 
remember, Signior? My father borrowed money from 
him, quite a small sum, but when he came to pay the 
debt Shylock told him it was much, much more. Oh! 
so much more that my father could never have paid 
it, though he wept, entreating the Jew for mercy." 



THE HOUSE OF THE JEW 51 

She crossed herself piously, lowering her tones as 
though she spoke of the devil. 

And Antonio Cainello was remembering the incident 
now; the scene on the Rialto, the sobbing debtor, the 
implacable Jew, his own anger, and how, having paid 
the man Scappini's debt, he had spoken to this Shylock 
as to a dog, lashing him with his tongue. Aye! spitting 
upon him in his fury because of the man's cruel harsh- 
ness and greed. 

"So," he mused aloud, "Tito Scappini is grateful. 
A rare quality, little Gemma, a rare quality." 

He looked at the child's flower face and shuddered 
as he thought of what her fate would have been together 
with that of the rest of Scappini's family had he not 
been on the Rialto that day. 

"Always we pray for you, Signior," repeated little 
Gemma, "and I think I shall pray still more now I 
have seen you, for you are good and kind, like dear 
Father Sylvester, and I love you." 

She was only a child, bred in poverty and want, but 
her words were as balm to her listener. 

How easy at times it is to win love! 

"I thank you, child," said Antonio gently, "for your 
figs — but still more for your prayers. Will you tell 
your father so, and say also that I shall come to see 
him soon, yes, very soon? Will you remember?" 

Her brown eyes, soft as velvet, sparkled with delight. 

"Oh!" she gasped — but said no more, only standing, 
a quaint little bright-hued figure, with clasped hands, 
gazing at the young merchant as though he were some 
pictured saint. 

And Messer Antonio knew that he would find a 
welcome when he went to the humble home of Tito 
Scappini. 



* 



52 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

The trifling incident gave him food for thought after 
Gemma had gone away, leaving her figs behind her. 
He had not met so much gratitude before at so small 
a cost, and it pleased him. 

After all, life could be very sweet when spent in serving 
others' needs. 

The smile still lingered around his lips when Bassanio 
himself came leaping up the stairs, bursting in upon him, 
radiant as a bridegroom on the wedding morn. 

"Come, good Antonio," cried he, "I have found one 
ready to take your bond. I have promised we shall 
meet presently in his house. Already my gondola is 
at the steps. And you " 

"Am ready too," replied Antonio heartily, "but tell 
me the name of this ready friend who accepts me so 
instantly as a debtor?" 

"A Jew, Antonio," replied Bassanio, laughing gayly, 
"by name Shylock. A bearded patriarch, with rheumy 
eye and the soul no doubt of a miser. But he knew the 
worth of your name, amico mio. 'Bring him hither,' 
quoth he, ' whilst I prepare the bond.' I am as sure 
of my ducats as of you v friendship, Antonio. It will 
not be long before I greet my mistress." 

And so great was his delight that his friend strove 
carefully to hide the fact of his dismay at Shylock 's 
name. 

Along many a winding canal, under innumerable 
one-arched bridges, glided Messer Bassanio's gondola, 
bringing him and his companion to the neighborhood 
of meaner houses, which, though more or less dilapidated, 
were not without their beauties of architecture, whilst 
upon every window-ledge and balcony were set flower 
pots with their burden of gay blossoms, behind which 



THE HOUSE OF THE JEW 53 

at times bright faces peeped forth and laughing eyes 
watched approvingly the two young men resting at 
ease on the silken seats of the felzi — or cabin — which 
sheltered them from the powerful rays of the sun that 
glinted on tl\e gilded prow of the graceful gondola and 
poured relentlessly down on the bent backs of the pic- 
turesque gondoliers who nevertheless sang softly at 
their task, the song being accompanied by the ripple 
of the water as the boat glided swiftly onwards. 

The house of Shylock the Jew stood at a corner and 
was linked by a bridge to a side street. 

A dismal abode, with but one brilliant patch of color 
in the orange awning over the balcony on which stood 
a pot of crimson carnations. 

As the occupants of the gondola stepped out a figure 
glided from the shadows above and leaned for the brief- 
est of moments over the side of the parapet — a girlish 
figure, clothed in a gown of blue and yellow, her 
long veil bearing the blue badge which proclaimed her 
a Jewess. As she raised this veil to peep down in 
hopes of recognizing her father's visitors, she disclosed 
features of glowing beauty. Black eyes shone sparkling 
under sweeping lashes, black tresses gave dusky framing 
to a face whose delicate features were slightly aquiline, 
and rendered the more attractive by reason of the clear 
brunette complexion where the red blood showed vividly 
under the soft, dark skin. A shade of disappointment 
crossed the eager face, and, as quickly as she had come, 
the girl glided back into the room behind, unseen by any. 

Meanwhile Bassanio and his companion had been 
admitted by a lean, crafty-faced fellow, shabby of 
clothing and hungry-eyed, with a trick of rubbing his 
ear as he spoke, reminiscent perchance of many a ting- 



54 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

ling cuff. The interior of the house showed signs of 
wealth, cheek by jowl, so to speak, with the greatest 
poverty. Dust-laden objects of art adorned walls 
where the plaster hung broken and crumbling, costly 
rugs only half hid rotting boards, whilst the atmosphere 
was close and stifling. 

In an apartment of splendid decay sat its owner, 
Shylock the Jew, at a table of rare, inlaid mosaic, over 
which were strewn parchments, ink horn and quills. A 
ray of sunlight shone over his attentuated and shrunken 
figure robed in long black gabardine, a yellow turban — 
distinctive badge of the Jews in Italy at this period — set 
closely over his gray head, a few scant locks escaping 
to lie in long wisps on his neck and mingle with the 
patriarchal beard which hung almost to his girdle. 
Wizen-faced, blear-eyed, was the man, with long, lean 
fingers, which moved in a constant clawing motion — 
true index to their owner's mind. 

There was something sinister in that hunched little 
figure which rose at sight of the two who strode so 
masterfully in upon him, bowing in servile fashion first 
to one then the other of his guests. 

Even Bassanio grew less joyous in such a presence, 
and, though still swaggering bravely, it was with an 
air of forced geniality, whilst he looked from the Jew 
to Antonio Cainello, who stood erect and calm regarding 
the cringing Shylock with lofty contempt. 

"This is the noble Signior Antonio, Jew," quoth he, 
"come to place his name upon the bond of which we 
spoke just now." 

Shylock ceased his salutations and stood blinking in 
the unwelcome sunlight, whilst clawing fingers, for lack 
of aught else, tugged at his long white beard. 



THE HOUSE OF THE JEW 55 

"For three thousand ducats/' he answered, in shrill, 
whining tones. " Three thousand ducats on loan to 
the noble Signior, who herewith signs his bond." 

He hobbled back to the table, glad to be in shadow 
once again. 

"Aye," replied Bassanio, since his friend stood silent 
regarding his future creditor with still contemptuous 
glances, "for three months, we agreed." 

"For three months — well — !" muttered the Jew, 
with shifty side glances for them both. 

"For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be 
bound," went on the young noble, impatiently. 

But Shylock the Jew was minded to play the tune to 
his own measure. 

"Antonio shall become bound — well," he echoed, 
purposely obtuse. 

Bassanio thrust his hand within his girdle. 

"Well," cried he, irritably, "can I have the money on 
those terms, old man, or must I go elsewhere for it?" 

"Softly, softly," urged the Jew. "Three thousand 
ducats for three months and Antonio here bound?" 

He peered into the merchant's immovable counte- 
nance, his red-rimmed eyes blinking in the light. 

"Your answer?" demanded Bassanio. "Your 
answer?" 

Shylock pressed those restless fingers of his together 
as though counting; he was very deliberate. 

"Antonio is a good man," he murmured, "by which 
I would have you to understand he is sufficient; yet 
his means are in supposition. Have I heard truly, 
Messer, that you have an argosy bound to Tripolis, 
another to the Indies, a third to Mexico, a fourth to 
England?" 



56 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Antonio bowed his head. 

"With other ventures, " he replied coldly, "scattered 
abroad." 

Shylock chuckled. "Your ships are but boards," 
he commented — as though still weighing considerations 
of his part; "sailors but men; there be land rats and 
water rats, water thieves and land thieves; I mean 
pirates. And then there is the peril of waters, winds 
and rocks. But, notwithstanding, I think I may take 
your bond." 

Antonio bowed. "And the ducats?" quoth he. 

The Jew turned back to the table, so that his face 
was hidden from his companions. Perhaps it was as 
well neither could see the expression of fiendish hate 
which, twisting his wizened features, stamped them 
with the devil's image. 

"Do you hear, Shylock?" demanded Bassanio, im- 
patiently. "What of the ducats?" 

"The ducats?" echoed the old man. "Yes, yes, I 
was just debating of my present store. It is a large sum 
— three thousand ducats. I have not the money by 
me. But you shall have the gold, fair sir. If I cannot 
raise it myself the money will be furnished by Aaron 
Tubal. My friend Tubal — a wealthy Hebrew of my 
tribe. You shall have the gold, rest you fair there, 
good Signior." 

He had re-adopted the old whining tones, bowing 
and cringing first to one then the other. 

Antonio Cainello regarded him with more and more 
distaste. Sooner would he have been beholden to any 
man in Venice than this suave usurer, whom he had 
seen last screaming threats as he shook the lean body 
of his unfortunate debtor Tito Scappini. 



THE HOUSE OF THE JEW 



57 



"Shylock," he said sternly, "for this dear friend's 
sake I break a custom. Though I do not lend or bor- 
row, yet now I do both. To lend to Bassanio here, 
I borrow from you — if you will accept my bond." 

"Aye, aye — three thousand ducats." Shylock was 
growing eager. " 'Tis a good round sum. Three thou- 
sand for three months — then let me see the rate." 

The details of the transaction appeared to absorb 
him, but all the time his fingers clawed and his rheumy 
eyes watched the man who stood straight and dignified 
before him. 

And as he watched, a sudden madness seemed to 
possess the gazer. Uncontrollable anger shook him 
so that his shriveled figure swayed, as some long-dead 
mummy might sway in winter tempest. But though he 
opened bis lips many times, no words came from them 
till he had mastered the passion which had been as some 
gust of fierce wind blowing across a peaceful lake. 

Yet, deep suppressed by iron will, passion echoed like 
some warning note in his voice as he spoke, half -mocking, 
whining, yet with a hate which flashed across each 
sentence as lightnings across midnight skies. 

"Signior Antonio," said he, spreading his hands wide 
and raising his face to that of the young merchant, 
"many a time and oft have you rated me on the Rial to 
about my moneys and my usances. How have I borne 
it? Why, how could I bear it but with a patient shrug? 
— for sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. You call 
me — misbeliever, cut-throat, dog, and spit upon my 
Jewish gabardine — and all because I use that which is 
my own! 

"Well, then, it now appears you need my help. You 
come to me and say, 'Shylock, we would have moneys.' 



58 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

You ask me that, you, who another day might have 
kicked me as a dog from your threshold. But now you 
come for money. I can aid you — so you come to the 
despised Jew. Well, what should I say to you? Should 
I not be justified in asking, 'Hath a dog money? Is 
it possible a cur can lend three thousand ducats?' Or 
shall I bend low, humbly whispering as a slave might 
do, 'Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last. You 
spurned me such a day; another time you called me — 
dog. And for these courtesies I'll lend you what you 
ask.' " 

Antonio frowned, still more contemptuous of the 
old man's barely-veiled hate than of his servility. 

"I am as like to call you so again," he retorted 
grimly. "Aye, and spit upon you again, spurning you 
too!" 

He clenched his hands, recalling deeds which he had 
heard laid to this man's account, besides those which 
he had witnessed. 

The fellow was vile, remorseless in his breaking of 
Christians, greedy in his gold lust, which absorbed his 
whole soul. Antonio thought of poor Scappini and the 
brown-eyed Gemma and itched to lay his staff about the 
hateful Jew. Yet he recalled Bassanio's need and went 
on more calmly. 

"If you will lend the money," he added, "let it be 
lent to him you call your enemy. You will not be the 
more eager than in other case to exact the penalty 
should I fail of my bond." 

Shylock bowed low, as though he had listened to 
the kindliest speech, whilst his reply was reproachful 
in its submissiveness. 

"Messer Antonio," he asked, "why do you storm? 



THE HOUSE OF THE JEW 59 

I would be friends with you and have your love. For- 
getting the shame you have put on me in the past, 
I am but too eager to do you this service, making the 
loan of money which you and your friend need, and 
taking no interest for the same. Is not this honestly 
spoken? Does it not prove my kindness ?" 

An expression of blank amazement passed not only 
over the face of Bassanio, but that of Antonio too. 
Never had the latter been more astonished. He had 
been prepared for some exorbitant demand, resigned to 
pay it for his friend's sake. Shylock's proposal stag- 
gered him in its simple generosity. 

"Why, this were kindness, indeed," he stammered, 
surprised out of his usual calm. 

Shylock flung wide his arms. "This kindness would 
I show," he vowed, with suave smiles. 

"Come with me to a notary, Messers both. And you, 
Antonio, shall there seal your single bond. Whilst stay! 
since a generous mood — unaccustomed you may say — 
makes me merry, let us in jesting add a clause as I dic- 
tate. Now, let me see, how shall it run? If you repay 
me not on such a day, in such a place, such sum, or 
sums, as are expressed in the condition, let the forfeit 
be nominated for an equal pound of your fair flesh, 
to be cut off and taken in what part of your body 
I may please." 

Antonio laughed dryly. Surely the old man grew 
towards senility to make so foolish a condition. 

Yet he saw nothing more than a feeble jest which 
was harmless in its way, and might be humored, seeing 
how in the main these terms advantaged him. 

"I am content enough," he replied, "to seal to such 
a bond, and say there is much kindness in the Jew." 



60 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

But Bassanio grew glum, having seen the look Shy- 
lock had fastened on his friend. 

"You shall not seal to such a bond for me," he told 
Antonio fiercely. " Sooner than you should do so, I'll 
forego the ducats." 

Here Shylock, chuckling still in foolish fashion, raised 
hands and eyes aloft, whilst the tears of empty mirth 
rolled down his withered cheeks. 

"O Father Abraham!" he groaned, reproachful, yet 
amused. "What these Christians are! Is it their own 
hard dealings which make them so mistrustful of others? 
Nay, Messer Bassanio, tell me this, if indeed your friend 
broke his day, what should I gain by the exaction of the 
forfeiture? A pound of man's flesh taken from a man 
is not so estimable nor profitable as that of beef or 
mutton. Why, this was but a jest, to buy Signior 
Antonio's favor. Will you take it, Messer? If not, 
farewell, but do not wrong my motive, which was inno- 
cent of aught but kindliness." 

"Yes, Shylock," replied Antonio, speaking more 
kindly than he had hitherto done to the Jew, "I will 
seal unto this bond." 

The old man rubbed his hands gleefully. He was 
very pleased to find an ancient enemy regarding him 
so favorably. 

"Good," said he. "Will you go to the notary? You 
will find Messer Romoni a commendable fellow, an 
honest knave and a nimble lawyer. You shall tell him 
of this merry bond, and whilst he prepares it, I will 
see to my house, collect the ducats and follow you as 
speedily as may be." 

He spoke with the air of one who concludes a bar- 
gain favorable to all. 



THE HOUSE OF THE JEW 



61 



Antonio nodded approvingly. He was glad for Bas- 
sanio's sake that the affair should be so speedily settled. 

As to Shylock's whimsical condition, he gave it no 
second thought, and rallied Bassanio, who followed him 
down to the stationary gondola with puckered brow. 

"The Jew will yet turn Christian," cried Antonio, 
striking his friend softly on the shoulder. "He grows 
kind, Bassanio," 

But the latter shook his head. 

"I like not fair terms — and a villain's mind," he 
retorted. To him this jest of Shylock's rang on a sinister 
note. 

Even now, but for his friend's persuasion, he would 
have ordered the gondoliers to turn the boat's prow 
back to his palazzo. 

Antonio, however, would have none of such reason- 
less fears. 

Much as he disliked the Jew he could see nothing in 
this bond but a new-born kindliness which might mean 
a hard man's conversion. 

"And for the rest," he argued, as Bassanio sullenly 
gave the order which should take them to Jacopo 
Romoni's, "what should I have to fear, since my ships 
come home a month before the day?" 

So Bassanio, growing more cheerful as he thought of 
all the rose-lit way which golden ducats would open, 
bade lingering doubts depart, taking present good and 
thanking his patron saint for sending him such a friend 
as Antonio Cainello. 



CHAPTER VI 

the Jew's daughter 

f^nr^HE bond is signed/' muttered Shylock the 
Jew — and again, "The bond is signed." 

Crouching low in his chair, he fell to gnaw- 
ing his finger nails, laughing shrilly from time to time 
as though the devil whispered some sugared jest into 
his ear. 

Almost one could imagine the evening shadows twist- 
ing themselves into some towering Satanic shape to 
hover above the old man, whose evil face was contorted 
by hate and joy. 

"I hate him," he muttered, "not only because he is 
a Christian and lends out money gratis, bringing down 
the rate of usage here in Venice, but because for ever 
he loves to come between me and my lawful gains. 
Not once only but many times, till those who sit search- 
ing the very garbage pause to point at me in scorn. 
Shylock the Jew! Is that a name for beggar's scorn? 
And yet that it is so I owe to this fawning Christian — 
Antonio Cainello! 

"By Jacob's staff! Cursed am I and all my tribe 
if I forgive one who has done me such harm, hates our 
sacred nation and ever rails on me, my bargains and 
my well-won thrift, when he spies me upon the Rial to." 

To and fro the speaker rocked himself, gloating, 
cursing, now swollen with rage, now chuckling in evil 
glee, so that a figure on the threshold paused, staring 

(62) 



THE JEW'S DAUGHTER 



63 



towards him shuddering and afraid. It was the same 
slight girlish figure which for a moment had leaned from 
the gray balcony to spy down on Antonio and his friend. 

Throwing back her heavy, striped veil, the girl ad- 
vanced into a room where she looked strangely out of 
place, her vivid beauty lighting its gloom, as she stood 
where the dying light caught and encircled her slim 
figure. 

Shylock turned and saw her there. 

"Jessica," he grunted. "Ah, girl. Here is news for 
you. Aaron Tubal and Peter Chus will sup with me 
to-night; see that all is prepared/' 

She came a little nearer to his side. 

"Those were strangers who came just now," she 
hazarded, curious as any daughter of Eve. "At least 
I do not remember to have seen the elder before, though 
one was like the Lord Bassanio Ramberti." 

Her father scowled at her from beneath bent brows. 

"And where were you, girl," he raved, "that you 
should see these Christian dogs? I'll have no such bold 
trafficking between my daughter and heathen swine." 

Jessica flushed, whilst her black lashes hid the mutiny 
of dark eyes. 

Yet she answered meekly, "Nay, father. I did but 
set my flowers on the balcony, when, hearing voices, 
I — I leaned forward, thinking you spoke with Toni, 
but instead it was these strangers, one of whom I have 
seen and heard named on the Piazza. Toni talked 
with them as they entered their gondola. I think he 
had much to say to the younger gallant." 

Shylock still scowled. 

"Toni is a Christian dog," he muttered, "ungrateful 
as the rest of mongrel curs. So he leaves my service 



64 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

for that of this other dog — this Bassanio, who is as likely 
to pay him wages as to learn wisdom and discretion. 
Yet let him go — the house is well rid of an unthrifty 
knave. But see to it that supper be served for these 
guests. I set great store on the friendship of Aaron 
Tubal, a man of wealth and substance who shall pres- 
ently wed with you, Jessica." 

The girl drew her veil partly over her face, so that 
her father's quick eyes should not spy on her growing 
pallor, whilst her reply was meek as that of Abraham's 
daughters should be. 

"At your pleasure, father," said she. "But if Toni 
goes and I am wed, who will rule your house?" 

"True," grunted the old man. "Tubal must wait, 
though he importunes me for you. Did not Jacob wait 
many years for Rachel? How said I to my enemy but 
now? Sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. So 
Tubal, waiting, shall not wait in vain. I'll find me 
an honest servant and Aaron shall have his bride. 
Whilst, having found my vengenace, I can say ' content.' 
Now away, girl; see that Toni in going takes no more 
in his bundle than he came with. A curse on all Christ- 
ians who would rob the Jew!" 

He drew a parchment near as he spoke, claw-like 
hands busy with the untidy litter of the table, but he 
laughed again and again in the hush of that quiet 
room, as he thought of a task completed that day. 

"The bond is signed," he was muttering as the dark 
curtain fell into place behind Jessica's retreating figure. 

But he did not know how, in the passage beyond, 
his only child leaned against the wall, panting as though 
sorely spent, both slender hands pressed against her 
bosom to still the throbbing of her heart. .• 



THE JEW'S DAUGHTER 65 

"I," she whispered, whilst the color flamed over her 
dark face, "to marry Aaron Tubal? The fat, sleek 
Aaron, whose very presence sets me shuddering. One 
who gloats over his gold as though it were living souls 
of men; whose fat sides shake with glee when he has 
tortured a hard bargain from his fellows. I, Jessica, 
to wed with such as Tubal, when my whole heart is 
given in love to fair Lorenzo?" 

Her eyes glowed like dark jewels, her breath came 
fast as purpose kindled in her. She was not Shy lock's 
daughter for nothing, but shrewd of wit and daring as 
women are when they set their hazard on love. 

So she went swiftly in search of Toni the servant, 
who had seen fit to change his service to-day. A fellow 
of nimble wit, this wily Venetian, who combined hatred 
for his master the Jew, and liking for the Jew's daughter, 
with a yet finer interest in his own advantage. 

He saluted Jessica with elaborate politeness, whilst 
she, being a consummate actress, became voluble with 
regrets. 

"Good Toni," said she, "I do regret your going, yet 
you are wise. This has been but gloomy service for you. 
This house is hell, and you, being a merry devil, robbed 
it of part of its tediousness. So I am sad — though I 
hear you will serve a generous lord in Bassanio Ram- 
berti." 

Toni watched her askance. 

"Indeed, lady," quoth he, "I shall have a full supper 
as well as breakfast. So it will be the changing of lean 
service for a fat one, though I shall not forget your 
kindness." 

Jessica sighed. 

"I would have shown you more, poor lad," she 

5 



66 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

responded, "had it been in my power. However, I 
make no plaint of my father, though I tell you you 
are wise to leave him. But, if I have been kind at all, 
Toni, you'll do me a small service in return?" 

"Why, that will I," cried the Venetian, with a ready 
palm for the ducat his young mistress slipped within it. 

"Shall I go in search of the Jew, lady, and tell him 
my opinion of him? Or would you rather that I told 
the secrets of his house abroad and so win pity for you 
in every heart in Venice?" 

"Nay, neither one nor other, good Toni, but instead 
give but this packet, secretly, into the hand of Messer 
Lorenzo Fortunato, who is a close friend of your new 
master, and whom you will no doubt see to-night. Do 
not fail in this as you love golden ducats and the thanks 
of Shylock's daughter." 

She smiled on him so radiantly as she spoke, that, 
for the first time in his life, Toni gave ducats the lower 
place in his esteem. 

"Messer Lorenzo shall have it," he promised, "though 
I search Venice through. Addio, lady, a happy fate be 
yours." 

Jessica watched him go, then returned to the per- 
formance of those duties on which her father set such 
store. 

"Will he come?" she whispered to herself. "Will 
he come — Lorenzo, Lorenzo?" 

The music of the name set her laughing, as young 
maids laugh in springtime, when love is in the air. 

So, though autumn shadows darkened that gloomy 
house, Jessica, the dark-eyed Jewess, laughed, because 
love lighted all her sky with noonday splendor. 

It was some two hours later, when to Shylock's house 



THE JEW'S DAUGHTER 67 

came guests more welcome and congenial to its master 
than those who had earlier darkened his doorway. 

Jessica, robed in a crimson and orange satin gown, 
was seated on cushions in a corner of a room lighted 
by many candles. 

Very beautiful did she look, though she took care to 
bend her dark head low over her embroidery, so that 
the screening veil should hide her glowing face from the 
approving gaze of the man who sat on the right hand 
of her father at a table near. 

Aaron Tubal, though not yet thirty-five years old, 
was fat and unwieldy of body, coarse-featured and sly 
of expression; craft and greed stamped him for what 
he was, and though his plump hands lay heavy and 
inert enough on the table before him, his little dark 
eyes twinkled restlessly from one object to another, very 
often resting upon the fair form of Jessica, who had 
withdrawn as far as possible from his gaze. 

She hated him, this fat and oily man, whom her father 
destined for her husband. With the fierce passion of 
a Judith she resolved that either she or Tubal himself 
should die before she suffered his embraces. Then her 
heart began to sing. Would not Lorenzo be coming 
to-night? Lorenzo, the joyous! Lorenzo, the hand- 
some Venetian who had stolen her heart the first time 
he passed in his gondola beneath her balcony, and looked 
up to espy a glowing beauty leaning half over the side 
of the old gray parapet. Since then they had spoken 
together in short, delicious interviews of which Shylock 
was totally ignorant. 
And to-night- 
Sweet meditations were broken in upon by Tubal 's 
raucous voice asking a question. 



68 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

" What bond is this between you and Antonio Cainello? 
Come, you shall tell me again. A bond between you 
and Antonio the merchant? By Jacob's staff! it will 
not be a bond of love." 

Shylock laughed, rubbing together restless fingers. 

"A bond of love?" he mocked. "Nay, nay, Aaron. 
You know better than that. Yet it was a merry jest. 
If this Antonio breaks his day I make my claim. Ha, 
ha! a foolish claim, friends both. What do you take it 
to be? Gold, jewels, house, his body to a prison bound? 
Why, better than all — though it was but a jest. A 
pound of his fair flesh to be cut off where I desire. A 
pound of flesh — of Christian flesh. The flesh of Antonio 
the merchant, who spat upon me, spurned me, called 
me such names as made that of Shylock the Jew stink 
on the Rialto; so that I have become a thing of scorn 
to all. A mock and jest! But even dogs can bite. 
So you hear the tale of a merry bond. A pound of 
flesh. 11 

The golden broidery slipped from Jessica's hands, 
the evil hatred, the terrible triumph which rang shrill 
as clarion blast in her father's voice made her cold in 
sudden horror. 

Even Tubal and Chus, hard-souled men without 
bowels of compassion for the most pitiful, paled as they 
saw the wizened face of their host distorted by its hate. 

"Antonio Cainello is a wealthy man," quoth Tubal 
in his drawling, lazy tones, "and though he ventures 
all upon the seas this year, his argosies are bound to 
many ports. I do not think, Shylock, that he will 
break his bond." 

"It shall be my prayer night and day," mouthed the 
old man, "my constant prayer that destruction comes 



THE JEW'S DAUGHTER 69 

upon his ships. May storms break them, winds delay 
them, pirates sink them, so that my vengeance is 
assured!" 

Peter Chus grunted as he drained his goblet. 

"A pound of flesh," quoth he. "And Antonio, no 
doubt, laughed as he signed that bond, little guessing 
the jest might become earnest." 

Shylock chuckled malevolently. 

"Nay, he thought I grew kind," he mouthed. "I 
kind, / forgiving. / to lend money to him without 
usury. A madman, friends. A fool! — whose folly I 
pray may cost him the price of his bond. No fear that 
I shall treat it as a jest that day. Already I whet my 
knife. It shall be sharp to carve the daintiest meal 
that ever vengeance supped on. A pound of Christian 
flesh! Oh, rare meal for a Jewish cur, whose honest 
gainings have been balked by Christian gibings. A 
pound of flesh! By Abraham's life, I hate him!" 

His knuckles gleamed white as ivory as he brought 
down skinny fists upon the table, repeating those last 
words in a frenzy of that rage which long nursing and 
suppression had rendered virulent. Aaron Tubal, strok- 
ing his short black beard, glanced from his aged host 
to where Jessica had been seated but a few moments 
before. 

Now, however, the pile of cushions was unoccupied, 
though a heap of shining embroidery lay on a low stool 
near. 

Jessica had fled, unable to endure the horror of that 
conversation. 

Could it indeed be her father who thus gloated over 
the prospect of so bloody and undeserved a vengeance? 

It seemed to the poor girl, as she crouched in the 



70 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

solitude of her own room, that she could no longer 
breathe in the tainted atmosphere of that house. 

"Lorenzo," she moaned, and stretched wide her 
beautiful arms as though entreating some all-powerful 
saint for deliverance from bondage. 



CHAPTER VII 

THE COMING OF A LOVER 

ANIGHT in Venice. Such a night as poets write 
of, with a clear moon riding high in purple skies, 
reflected again and again in the deep waters of 
a lagoon or the rippling surface of the canal, up which 
a number of gondolas had just passed, bearing a party 
of masquers home to one of the stately palaces whose 
arched basements were clothed in tender green. Music 
and laughter, song and the soft splashing of oars, grad- 
ually drifting down to one of those perfect silences, 
broken only by the call of nightingales from their leafy 
cages, across the traghetti. 

Did Venice sleep? Did she ever sleep? If so, there 
echoed the music of waves against the distant sea wall 
to sing their lullaby to her dr earnings. 

Then the dream was broken, a hundred fairy lights 
danced once more over the lagoon as three gondolas, 
illuminated from bow to stern by colored lamps, show- 
ing the rich coverings of embroidered cloths and the 
still gayer costumes of masquers, glided into view again, 
vanishing down one of the many canals, though the 
vibrant echoes of a guitar and the rich notes of a single 
tenor voice lingered behind for many minutes. 

A city of pleasure, this Venice, by night and day. 
Pleasure seekers were its inhabitants, loving the gor- 
geous, the picturesque, the romantic, as much as they 
loved brilliant colorings and the splendor of valiant 

(71) 



72 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

deeds. This was the same people, be it remembered, 
who in the early fifteenth century held carnival for a 
whole year to celebrate the accession of Foscari to the 
Dogeship. Poor Foscari! who thirty-four years later 
stood alone and deserted on the great staircase, listening 
to the clanging bells and clamoring shouts which wel- 
comed another Doge. 

Yet, for all their love of pleasure, these Venetians 
were no effeminate voluptuaries, but deified vigor, manli- 
ness and strength. In other countries of the south 
the worship of the Madonna preponderates over that 
of Christ. In Venice it is noticeable that churches, 
pictures, altars, are chiefly dedicated to Christ and His 
saints. Out of sixty churches only five are devoted to 
the Madonna, and three to female saints. So when 
Venice dreamed, we must suppose her dreams were of 
valor and high deeds of prowess, kindling her ardor 
and maintaining that spirit of independence and res- 
olute courage which made her position in Europe 
unique. 

Yet no doubt there was room too for softer dreams, 
those dreams of love which are woven in the woof and 
thread of every tender romance. 

The men and women of Venice, passionate in patriot- 
ism, were passionate too in their personal loves. No 
night could pass without the music of the serenade 
floating soft and sweet across lagoon and canal, whilst 
white hands were ready to push open barring shutters 
to send a flower or written message to reward the song. 
But no music of voice or instrument broke the silence 
around the house of Shylock the Jew. Yet a shutter 
was being softly unclosed above, and out onto the 
balcony stole Jessica, the Jew's daughter, a rose in her 



THE COMING OF A LOVER 73 

dark hair, a tender expectancy in her eager eyes. How- 
fast her heart beat as she looked back towards the 
gloomy house and then down upon the moonlit waters 
of the canal! 

Would he come? Would he come? And if not — . 
She clasped her hands in anguish. 

// not? 

An hour since her father had called her to bid fare- 
well to his guests. As she had looked into the eyes of 
Aaron Tubal she had grown afraid. Had they been 
talking of her during her absence? Was it possible 
that this wealthy suitor's importunities had prevailed? 
If so — and Lorenzo came not — what might her fate be? 

In agony of spirit the girl had again retired to her 
room after bidding her father good-night. But she had 
been haunted ever since by the memory of Aaron Tubal's 
sleek smile which had held some hint of possessive right 
in it as he gazed boldly down into her face. A boat 
shot out from beneath the single arch of the bridge. 
He had come! Lorenzo was here. The nightmare of 
her fears slipped from her, as she leaned over to fling 
the silken ladder down, first fastening it to the iron- 
work of the balcony above. 

Tall and slender stood the figure of the boat's solitary 
occupant, with face upraised in the moonlight. 

He was good to look at, this merry Lorenzo, fair 
skinned, auburn locked, with the eyes which had caught 
the trick of laughter from babyhood and never known 
the way of tears. He was laughing now, as he stood 
there in his gay doublet and cloak, since he was not 
of the nobili, and could wear what color it pleased him 
without the law-giving of grave academies. 

To-night his fancy had been for blue and silver, so 



74 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

that he made a brave figure to play the lover to his 
dark-eyed houri. 

He was beside her before she had had time to breathe 
a prayer for his safe journey to the balcony, and since 
moments were precious he did not stand on ceremony. 

Was he not a lover? And was not pretty Jessica 
kind to him to-night? 

So he held her in his arms, whispering passionate 
vows into a willing ear, whilst overhead sailed a silver 
moon; chaste Diana, cold in her loveliness, yet patroness 
to all hot-headed, amorous-hearted lovers the old world 
over. 

"Come," whispered Lorenzo, "will you not come, 
carissima? Why should we wait? My boat is there, 
awaiting us. Shall we not set sail to Arcadia to-night?" 

He laughed joyously, thrilled by the touch of those 
scarlet lips which clung so passionately to his. But 
Jessica hung back, shaking her head. 

"No, no," she replied. "I cannot come to-night. 
Harken! It is my father's voice which calls. He must 
have heard something — or else I mistook when I thought 
I heard him retire to his room. Go, Lorenzo, go — but 
come again, because I love you." 

He still held her, unwilling to quit so dear a presence. 

"If you will not come to-night," he replied master- 
fully, "you shall not refuse me again. Listen, caris- 
sima. All shall be prepared for our flight, so that we 
may straightway set sail for Genoa. And you will 
come, my bride, my wife. You will be mine?" 

She shivered a little, as one who grows afraid at the 
parting of the ways. 

To go forth to a new life — a new religion — a new 
world. Yet in all to find Lorenzo — to taste the sweets 



THE COMING OF A LOVER 75 

of love in all its fullness. Could she tear up the roots 
which bound her down into the straight tenets of a 
Jewish woman's life? 

Her lips parted, her dark eyes sparkled. Love was 
the conqueror. Could she look back to where amongst 
grim shadows she saw the repellant figure of Aaron 
Tubal awaiting her with all the pride of possession in 
his eyes? 

"You shall send a letter to me/' she said, yielding 
to a lover's will, "by that Toni who is now Lord Bas- 
sanio's servant, but who for years lived here in service 
to my father. And, in that letter, contrive some plan 
for me to steal hence when we can be assured of my 
father's absence. If not — if not — O Lorenzo, I am 
afraid, for my father would have no mercy did he learn 
our secret before we were safely wed." 

But Lorenzo, merry and confident, laughed at such 
fears. The Jew's mind was too intent counting his 
shekels to be given to the secret doings of a daughter 
whom he supposed to be too deep-grafted in old tradi- 
tions of race to cast the glances of a wandering eye 
upon a Gentile. 

So, whilst Venice slept, dreaming her splendid dreams 
of a golden age, these two, Jewess and Gentile, forgetful 
of racial hatred and an ancient curse, whispered of love 
together whilst the minutes fled, till warning sounds 
from within told Jessica that danger might be near. 

"Farewell, Lorenzo," she whispered — and again — 
"farewell, my lord that is to be. I shall await your 
letter — and the day when I am yours for all time. 
Farewell, dear lover." 

She watched him go, waving his cap to her, so that 
white moonbeams crowned his ruddy locks, and to the 



76 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

last showed her his laughing eyes. Then the boat, swift 
as a swallow, darted beneath the bridge — and he had 
gone. 

Jessica sighed, regretful, poor child, that she had not 
listened to importunate pleading and fled with him 
to-night. Yet that had been folly, since her Jewish 
dress alone would have helped betray her, and cold 
horror lay at her heart as she thought of what tragic 
fate hers would be did her father discover and stop 
her flight. 

No, they must go cautiously in this elopement. She 
would disguise herself in page's dress (none saw her 
blushes as she crept back to her room) and so deaprt 
from this house which she had termed hell to Toni the 
servant. 

And if this were hell, surely the land to which she 
fled with Lorenzo would be paradise. Sleepless she 
tossed upon her bed, fear and delight possessing her, as 
first she thought of Aaron Tubal — then of her lover. 

To-morrow — the next day — love's messenger would 
come and she would learn how cunningly the gate of 
this prison house should be opened for her. 

Love and Lorenzo! No wonder in the turmoil of 
such thoughts as these Shylock's daughter forgot the 
story of vengeance against Antonio the merchant, which 
she had heard her father recount in such gloating triumph 
to his friends. 



G 



CHAPTER VIII 

THE QUEEN OP MANY SUBJECTS 

a f^\ RACIOUS Signora, a courier has arrived who 
announces that his master, the Prince of 
Morocco, and his train, journey to Belmont. 
I think from what he says the Prince comes as a suitor 
for your hand." 

Portia di Nerlini gave vent to an impatient sigh. 

"A suitor, Nerissa?" she complained. "Why, of 
course he is a suitor — for the hand of my father's heiress. 
I am rich, child, so rich that a Prince deems my dower 
worthy of him. But, for the woman? Why! What 
does she count, excepting as a needful part of a rich 
bargain?' ' 

There was a bitter note in the young voice as the 
Lady Portia rose, pacing the room till she stood before 
the window looking out upon lawns and flowers, which 
showed a riot of color, gorgeous in beauty, even though 
autumn breezes shook fading leaves to the ground. 

The months succeeding her father's sudden death had 
changed a gentle girl into a woman grown strong of 
necessity to fight a lonely battle. In her sweeping sable 
robes, only relieved by the string of pearls around her 
white neck and the long veil which fell to the hem of 
her gown, she looked like some lovely spirit of night, 
no whit less beautiful than of yore, though the tremulous 
lips were more firmly set and her blue eyes kindled with 
a fire which they had lacked in the days of a sheltered 

(77) 



78 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

and irresponsible life. She stood alone — a queen still 
of many vassals, though her own heart had never yet 
been subject to one. 

Never? Ah! Why did the Lady Portia sigh as her 
thoughts flew to one who had never ridden back to the 
Palazzo di Nerlini with all this never-ending train of 
suitors? 

Had she never loved? Autumn breezes sighing 
amongst tall cypresses, repeated an unanswered question. 
And now the Prince of Morocco, a dusky potentate 
from afar, rode hither to test his fortune after the 
manner of her father's decree. 

> Those caskets! The very thought of them set her 
heart beating in terror. Surely Providence itself in 
answer to her father's many prayers for her happiness, 
had decreed that none of these greedy suitors should 
guess right. 

Again and again the test had been put, whilst she, 
eyeing with distaste a possible husband, had sung her 
thanksgiving very gladly at sight of his crestfallen 
departure. 

But one day — one day — the casket would be chosen 
containing her portrait, and she, unable to refuse the 
claim, must yield herself as fate and a dead father 
had decreed. 

Over and over again had she complained of that 
decree. What wild inspiration of a dying brain had 
that been which devised so strange a method for her 
mating? 

Could not her father have relied on his daughter's 
wisdom and discernment rather than leave her destiny 
to a chance — a trick — an idle guess? 

But it was not so that Fra Angelo had seen it. Had 






THE QUEEN OF MANY SUBJECTS 79 

he not told her that she must look upon this dying act 
as one of heavenly interposition? That was how it 
seemed to the holy priest. There would be no chance 
or idle guesswork in this proving of the test, but the 
seal of Providence in a choice which it had decreed an 
earthly father might not make. 

But Portia, though in moments of exaltation believing 
the good confessor, had her hours of despair. For 
behold! the months slipped by, and though suitors by 
the score came riding to the palazzo, never came he 
for whom she sought in vain. 

"Sing to me, Nerissa," she commanded feverishly, 
and Nerissa, sympathetic in her mood, took up the 
lute and sang. 

Yea, thou art fair; I pray the heavens to bless thee, 
For where thy footsteps fall the grass is spread 
In springtide verdure underneath thy tread, 
As though the spring were born but to caress thee. 

Did it seem strange to the lady that the maid sang a 
song of Venice? If so she made no comment, asked no 
question, though as Nerissa ceased, twanging the strings 
in mournful melody, Portia's blue eyes had darkened in 
a tender reverie. 

It had been springtime when Bassanio Ramberti rode 
hither in the train of the Marquis di Montferret, and she 
minded the friend she had brought with him — the Signior 
Gratiano, who had confided in pretty Nerissa. 

Suddenly she turned, flinging herself back on her 
couch, beckoning Nerissa to lay aside the lute. 

"Oh, me!" she sighed, impatient as one bound who 
seeks in vain for freedom. "How I hate the word 
choose, for I may neither choose whom I would nor 






80 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

refuse whom I dislike. So is the will of the living 
daughter curbed by the will of a dead father. Is it not 
hard, Nerissa, that I can neither choose nor refuse my 
husband?" 

Nerissa came and knelt by the couch, twining her 
arm around that of her mistress as young girls do in 
friendly love — for were they not friends, these two, 
bound yet more closely than before? 

"I will believe what Fra Angelo says," she declared 
encouragingly, "that till the husband of your choice 
comes the right casket will never be chosen. Tell me, 
dear lady — he has not yet come — and gone?" 

Portia shook her head emphatically. 

"There has not been one," she declared, "but I dote 
on his very absence. Think, then, Nerissa, what manner 
of wooers there have been. Name them, and I will tell 
you how I regarded their suit." 

Laughter chased the shadows from her eyes, a dimple 
played roguishly in her smooth cheek. She had not 
been a woman had she not found delight in the torments 
of lovers who had a first mind for her fortune and but 
a second for herself. 

Nerissa, glad to see a stormy mood depart, and to 
while away a time of suspense before the arrival of an 
unwelcome visitor, made haste to obey. Kneeling 
back, she pressed finger after ringer in slow counting, 
keeping a small, merry face uplifted to that of her 
mistress. 

"First there was the Neapolitan prince," said she, 
her lips a-quiver with smiles. 

Portia's chin tilted in disdain. 

"A colt," she averred, "who could talk of nothing 
but his horse. His chief commendation seemed that 
he could shoe him himself." 



THE QUEEN OF MANY SUBJECTS 81 

"Then," went on Nerissa, " there was the County 
Palatine." 

"Who did nothing but frown, as who would say/aw^ 
if you will not have me, beware!' What will he be, 
Nerissa, when he is old, being so full of sadness in his 
youth? I had rather be married to a death's head 
with a bone in his mouth, than to either of these!" 

Nerissa shook her head, pursing wry lips, as some silk 
vendor who hears his merchandise disparaged, yet knows 
the truth of the verdict. 

"What say you to the French lord, Monsieur le Bon?" 
she inquired. 

Her mistress shrugged comely shoulders. 

"In truth I know it is a sin to be a mocker," said 
she, "but if I should marry him I should marry twenty 
husbands — and every one a braggart." 

"Then there was the Duke of Saxony's nephew. 
How like you him, lady?" 

"Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober, and 
most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk; when 
he is best, he is a little worse than a man; and when 
he is worst, he is little better than a beast; an' the 
worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go 
without him. I will do anything, Nerissa, ere I will 
be married to a sponge." 

Nerissa was silent. Lovers had come, riding hither 
gayly, riding away sadly, as those she had enumerated; 
so many that she had no count for names or titles. 
Surely the good father confessor was right in saying 
that Providence had guided such in their choice, since 
her lady looked so aversely on all. 

Then suddenly she spoke again, this time with eyes 
averted. 



82 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, 
a Venetian, a young soldier, who came hither in company 
of the Marquis di Montferret?" 

This time the Lady Portia did not scoff and her 
answer was low pitched. 

"Why, yes — it was Bassanio Ramberti, as I think he 
was named. " 

"True, dear mistress, and — and he, of all men that 
my foolish eyes have looked on, seemed best deserving 
a fair lady." 

A thrush lilted a high, sweet melody in the garden, 
swaying its slender body on a slim acacia twig. 

Portia was looking towards the bird, her blue eyes 
tender with memory. 

"I remember him well," she whispered. "And I 
remember him worthy of thy praise. Yet he has not 
come a-wooing to Belmont, Nerissa. Did he come — 
did he come " 

The silken curtains before the door were sharply 
withdrawn. A page had come to announce the arrival 
of the Prince of Morocco. 




Do you not remember, lady, a Venetian, a young soldier?" 



CHAPTER IX 

A ROYAL SUITOR 

THE long dinner drew to its close. The Lady 
Portia, weary these many hours, because of secret 
fear straining at her heart as she surveyed the 
dusky countenance of an honored guest, raised the 
goblet of wine to her lips, essaying a faint smile. 

For this prince, dark-complexioned and swarthy as 
he was, possessed a noble air, proving himself a very 
gallant gentleman. Here was no mountebank or brain- 
less fool, he had no shadow of melancholy, nor boister- 
ous wit heightened by deep potations. And, throughout 
the meal, had shown such courtly consideration and 
gentle courtesy that Portia could have found neither 
quip nor gibe in her heart for him. 

Yet, as a husband! She shuddered, turning to en- 
counter the Prince's dark eyes fixed on her. 

"Lady," he said, bowing gracefully, "I think you 
know my purpose in coming here. Rumor, traveling 
swift-winged to my country, told of the peerless beauty 
of the lady of Belmont, also of the strange condition 
which was imposed on every suitor for her hand. Do 
you blame me that I came?" 

She colored rosily. Courteous, princely, refined, 
though this petitioner for her favor might be, she had 
been zealous to note how his appraising eyes had scanned 
the costly rooms of the Palazzo, marking the gold and 
silver which adorned the table, the signs of luxury and 

(83) 



84 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

wealth which were so visible around. She had even 
fancied he had looked longer at the beauteous pearls 
which hung about her neck than at the white arch of 
the throat above it. 

So her own eyes hardened as she listened to words 
which were more formal than eloquent, expressing 
sentiments of the lips rather than the heart. 

Aye! He had heard of the wealth of the Lady of 
Belmont — before her beauty. Could a woman be de- 
ceived? It was the woman, grown strong and wise 
before her time, who answered, rather than the tender 
girl who had given a pink carnation to the lover of a 
day. 

"It is true,' , she said, "my father has imposed a 
strange condition with my hand. In another room, 
Lord Prince, stand three caskets, one gold, one silver, 
one of lead; within one and one only lies my portrait. 
Who chooses that chooses me, and I, obedient to my 
dead father's will, am ready to go with that man to 
church, and be thenceforth his loving wife. But unless 
my suitor abides by that condition I have no word save 
that of dismissal for him." 

The Prince smiled with a happy confidence which 
seemed to mock at failure. Unaccustomed to opposi- 
tion to his will, he was convinced that an easy success 
lay now before him. The victories of a lifetime are ill 
preparation for defeat. 

So he looked on Portia di Nerlini, the richest heiress 
in Italy, as one already destined to be his bride; saw 
her fair and desirable in that pale, blue-eyed beauty 
of hers, which was in such direct opposite to his own 
swarthy complexion, and felt his ardor leaping in the 
hot flame of a sudden passion. He had come to win a 



A ROYAL SUITOR 85 

wealthy wife, he now desired to gain this fair woman 
for his own; yet the dominant note in his fast-beating 
heart was the greed of the possessor, with little admix- 
ture of a lover's worship and humility. So he answered 
lightly to the lady's warning: 

"By this scimitar I vow I would out-brave the most 
daring heart on earth to win you, loveliest. Tell me 
what other conditions are imposed with this choice on 
which my whole fate hangs?" 

His dark eyes, burning in their gaze, seemed to scorch 
her, so that for all her courage she trembled. Was it 
possible that only the caskets lay between her and the 
desire of this masterful and dusky potentate from far 
Morocco? 

She tried to daunt him. 

"It is my father's command," she replied gravely. 
"You must first take solemn oath before your choice, 
that if you fail you must remain dumb as to which 
casket you unlocked, and moreover vow never to woo 
another woman in way of marriage. Whilst from this 
palazzo you ride forth at once, never seeking me again." 

The Prince was silent. Here were hard conditions! 
Should he take vow of celibacy did this lady fail him? 
Yet she should not fail him. Had he not always stood 
victor of every field, either in love or war? 

Again he looked at Portia and felt his pulses leaping 
in furious longing, saw the red blood creep under her 
lily-pale skin, noted the crowning glory of her golden 
hair but half-concealed by her long veil, marked the 
rounded curves of the white neck whose beauty showed 
in contrast to the dull black of her mourning robes. 

Could he ride away from Belmont, because he dared 
take no risk in winning such a prize? 



86 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

That other suitors had done so, fearing the issue of 
so strange a trial, he knew well enough. But he would 
toot follow their example. 

"I accept all conditions*" said he quietly, "and will 
take the oath." 

But Portia, feeling a suffocating sense of fear, seeing 
how a dark hand clutched convulsively about the jeweled 
hilt of a scimitar, rose hastily from the table. 

"You shall take the oath, Lord Prince," said she, 
striving after that calm dignity it was so hard to assume. 
"And presently, either choose and straightway go hence, 
or choose and stay to celebrate our nuptials." 

Then, with a deep curtsy, she withdrew, bidding her 
steward summon her train, so that in the usual state 
they might proceed to the room of trial. 

In the meantime she fled alone up the marble stairs 
to seek her room. 

She could not endure the coming ordeal till in solitude 
she had rallied failing courage and steadied trembling 
nerves. 

Only a tender moonlight filled the room, showing 
the gleaming marble of the mantelpiece and the rich 
hangings of the bed. 

Portia flung herself down beside a low, carved chair, 
stretching wrung hands out over the cushioned seat 
whilst she buried her face in the curved hollow of white 
arms from which the long, hanging sleeves fell back. 
It was a moment of weakness, of abandon, of utter lone- 
liness, in which life appeared wholly impossible to this 
young girl, whose high position left her to be the prey 
of every fortune hunter. 

Deep sobs shook her, rending her very heart. Fate 
stood above her, grim, inexorable. The thought that 



A ROYAL SUITOR 87 

this dark-visaged Prince might win her was terrible, and 
yet if he failed, what remained? Other suitors would 
come, as covetous, and perhaps less courteous. Others, 
who would accept her father's fanciful conditions, and 
who, alas! could not all be losers. 

Only a miracle seemed to have saved her thus far 
from a husband who openly sought not her but hers. 

It would be the same to-morrow — the next day — till 
at last the inevitable happened, and she must give her- 
self to a rightful claimant. 

A rightful claimant! Ah! but not he. Not the man 
with whom she had stood in the marble-paved loggia 
listening to the warble of nightingales, drinking in all 
the ecstasy of springtide. 

Involuntarily she raised her bowed head so that the 
moonbeams played on her tear-stained, lovely face, 
so pale and sorrow-stricken. 

"Bassanio!" she murmured softly. "Oh, my love, 
my love! Yet no love of mine. Bassanio! Nay, 
he hears me not. He will never return to Belmont. 
Never! He has forgotten me. Yet how tenderly he 
spoke with me that night long since. And I, a child, 
thought his eyes spoke love. Love Bassanio! Oh, 
what a dream — Bassanio — husband. Shame on me, 
shame ! To feel my heart ache so sadly for a man who 
has forgotten me. He'll never come again. Perhaps 
he is already wed. No, I'll not believe it. Did he not 
look up and back as he rode away, pressing my flower 
to his lips? Moonlight may deceive — but the sun shone 
on the day in which he rode away — carrying my heart 
with him. Oh, shame again that I should say such 
things — or even dream them. Yet, I have dreamed of 
him. And always in my dreams his eyes were kind. 



88 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Bassanio! — love, will you never look so again upon 
Portia?" 

She fell to moaning, her empty arms widespread, 
yielding herself to a passion, which, being impossible 
of fulfilment, beat itself out in tears, as you have seen 
the wild waves flung back from cold, hard rocks in 
showers of glistening spray. 

He would not come to Belmont. And, because of 
that, her soul despaired, thinking of these others who 
were come and who would be coming. 

Not her — but hers. Yet, had Bassanio ridden hither, 
she felt it would have been a lover who claimed ad- 
mittance. 

With hands fast locked she prayed — such wordless 
prayers as were but dumb cries launched into space, 
yet winging faintly upwards. 

And had she framed those prayers in living phrases 
each would have echoed the same name. Bassanio! 
Yet what had Heaven to do with the weary aching of 
a maiden's heart? 

She grew bitter with the thought, then prayed again, 
feeling a shadowed peace lay soothing balm within her 
breast. 

Did Heaven heed indeed? Did a mightier power 
gird her round than she had dreamed of? Was it pos- 
sible she did not stand to do battle with Fate alone? 

A bird sang out in the darkness, and her whole being 
thrilled in a new-born strength. 

Behold, in a curtained sky, the stars shone forth, 
their far-off light searching her troubled heart. 

She would no longer despair, since Heaven lay nearer 
than the stars, whose message told of hope. 

Rising to her feet she summoned Nerissa, who came, 



A ROYAL SUITOR 89 

startled to find her mistress here when she had fancied 
her still at the banquet. 

"Tell Florio I am ready," said the lady very quietly. 
"Bid him acquaint the Prince of Morocco. I await 
my train to join His Highness." 

And for once Nerissa said no word of comfort or 
inquiry, though she brought rosewater to bathe her 
mistress' tear-stained face, setting a crumpled veil in 
order without comment. 

For she knew that the hour of solitude which the 
Lady Portia had spent here in a darkened room was 
sacred for all time. 

Through folding doors, held back by bowing servants, 
the Prince of Morocco led the Lady Portia to a dais-like 
seat, with gilded back and arms, covered in crimson 
velvet. Behind them walked their respective trains, 
eager, expectant, thrilled with all the excitement attend- 
ant on such a hazard. 

The Prince bowed low before the lady, whilst, in turn- 
ing, his keen, dark eyes swept round the room. A room 
replete with luxury. Priceless paintings adorned the 
walls, tables and cabinets inlaid with porphyry and 
serpentine or rare mosaics furnished the apartment, 
whilst at the farther end costly curtains of softest silk of 
interwoven colors were even now being drawm aside by 
the Lady Portia's servants, displaying three caskets 
ranged along a gilded table, which stood back against 
the wall. 

Three caskets! One of gold, one of silver, one of lead, 
richly embossed in scroll-like patterns. 

Three caskets! And on them lay the hazard of this 
strange wooing. 

A proud, magnificent and very confident figure, the 



90 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Prince advanced, without undue haste, and with a 
dignity which could not fail to impress the spectators 
who were grouped around the room. 

The Lady Portia herself sat grasping the gilt sides of 
her chair, her lovely face drained of all color, yet com- 
posed and calm. 

The Prince came to a halt near the table, scanning the 
caskets, whilst in deep, meditative tones he read aloud 
the inscription on each. 

"Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire" 
was the legend borne by the golden casket. 

11 Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves," 
was inscribed on that of silver, whilst the leaden casket 
bore the enigmatical words — 

"Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath." 

Portia di Nerlini drew a deep breath. 

"If you choose the one containing my picture, Prince, 
I am yours," said she, and seemed to herself that she 
rang her own death-knell. 

But the Prince was in no hurry to risk his hazard, 
thus keeping the lady on the rack of torment. 

"Some god direct my judgment/' he muttered. "Let 
me read these inscriptions again. What says this leaden 
casket? u Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he 
hath J Must give — for what? For lead! hazard for 
lead? This casket threatens. When men hazard all 
they do it for great advantage. I do not choose to give 
or hazard aught for lead. 

"Then this silver casket with her virgin hue — l Who 
chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.' " 

"As much as I deserve! Pause here, Morocco. Why, 
do I not deserve this lady? Am I not worthy? By 
birth, in fortune, graces, qualities of breeding, but more 



A ROYAL SUITOR 91 

than all these, in love itself, I do deserve her. But 
before I choose let me see once more this saying graved 
in gold: 'Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men 
desire.'' Why, that's this lady! All the world desires 
her. From the four corners of the earth they come to 
kiss this shrine. For far and near the tale of her wealth 
and beauty rings. And in one of these caskets her 
heavenly picture lies hidden. Is it likely lead contains 
her? It were damnation to think so base a thought! 
Or shall I believe her hid in silver being ten times under- 
valued to pure gold? Never so rich a gem was set in 
worse than gold. Give me the key, lady, here do I 
choose, whatever of fortune that choice holds for me." 
i A soft flush had risen to Portia di Nerlini's cheeks; 
bending forward she handed the Prince a tiny key. 

"Take it," she whispered, "and if my form lies there, 
I am yours." 

All craned forward, a deep hush pervaded the room. 
Men and women caught back their breath in expectancy 
as they listened to the soft click of a turning lock. 

Then, pale for all his confidence, the Prince stooped 
over the open casket, and lifted out a small picture with 
dependent scroll. 

He reeled a little and his swart face grew livid. 

"O hell!" he muttered, "what choice is this? A 
carrion death to mock and gibe at me. My choice! 
A fateful one which rings its own knell to the doom of 
despair!" 

Unfolding the scroll, he read its contents aloud : 

All that glitters is not gold, 
Often have you heard that told; 
Many a man his life hath sold 
But my outside to behold, 



92 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Gilded tombs do worms infold. 
Had you been as wise as bold, 
Young in limbs, in judgment old, 
Your answer had not been inscrol'd: 
Fare you well; your suit is cold. 

With haggard face and downcast eyes which dared 
not meet the pitying gaze of the lady, the young Prince 
approached Portia di Nerlini. 

It was his first defeat — and a very bitter one. Yet, 
even in that despair which high hopes made the darker 
he neither forgot his solemn oath nor the fact that he 
was a Prince. 

With deep obeisance he bowed before her whom he 
had thought to make his bride and from whom he was 
now vowed to part forever. 

"Lady," said he, "I accept my fate and hasten to 
obey the conditions imposed on failure. Thus losers 
part. Yet I neither swore to forget the Lady of Belmont 
nor in those memories, bitter-sweet, shall I forget to 
pray for her happiness.' ' 

Portia held out her hand, very gracious and womanly 
in pity for so noble a suitor, yet it was as well perhaps, 
that, as the Prince pressed those white fingers to his 
lips, he did not raise his head to see the look of infinite 
relief and thankfulness which was mirrored in the lady's 
blue eyes. 

In stately dignity he withdrew, princely in defeat, 
whilst Portia, the strain of that fateful hour over, dis- 
missed her servants and retired to her room, weeping for 
pure perversity since, now her passionate prayers were 
answered and an unwelcome wooer gone, Bassanio was 
no nearer. Ah! Bassanio! Tears blurred her vision, sobs 
choked her voice. What would the end of all this tur- 



A ROYAL SUITOR 93 

moil be? Would she live to regret the day when the 
Prince of Morocco, a very courtly gentleman, rode away 
to make room for a less worthy but more fortunate 
suitor? 

The silken curtains were drawn aside, and Nerissa, 
eager and flushed, stood before her mistress. 

"Gracious Signora," she cried, "a courier stands 
without, bidding me acquaint you of the coming of his 
master — a noble of Venice." 

Portia sprang to her feet, transformed on the instant 
from weeping Niobe to Aurora, goddess of a summer's 
dawn. 

The color rose crimsoning her fair face; her eyes 
sparkled with a hundred fires. 

"From Venice?" she echoed, softly clapping her hands. 
"Then speed you, speed you, girl, and bid the mes- 
senger ride back to tell his lord that Portia di Nerlini 
bids him welcome. Aye! welcome as — as all from 
Venice must be at Belmont." 

She was laughing joyously as the curtains fell with 
swish of silken draperies into place behind the vanishing 
form of Nerissa. 



CHAPTER X 

GRIMANI PROVES IMPORTUNATE 

**TJ*ROM Venice!" 

ji What magic in those words. For who 
should ride from Venice to Belmont but the 
Lord Bassanio Ramberti? 

"Bring me my robe of white silk/' commanded Portia 
briefly, "with the golden girdle. I will welcome this 
— this new suitor in other attire than dreary black. 
I've heard it said that the people of Venice have a 
kindly eye for gay coloring. You shall bring me my 
chain of turquoise, Nerissa, and bind my hair with the 
garland of roses. Quick, girl, quick! Are you here only 
to regard your own saucy face in the mirror? Nay, little 
Nerissa, I would not be harsh — and Messer Gratiano is 
a citizen of gallant bearing." 

"I thought him so, too, Mistress," whispered Nerissa, 
and blushed in all the pleasant delight of anticipation. 

But alas, for dreams which had been too hastily 
woven by desire. 

When the Lady of Belmont, gracious and radiant in 
her jeweled attire, came down the marble stairs, it was 
to find a stranger bowing before her welcome. 

In sooth he wore the sober black of the Venetian 
nobili with its silver girdle and jeweled shirt collar — but 
this was not Bassanio Ramberti, fair-haired and gray- 
eyed, but a slender, dark-eyed gallant, with short beard 
and masterful bearing, who gave the name of Niccolo 

(94) 



GRIMANI PROVES IMPORTUNATE 95 

Grimani, as though that title would carry weight in any 
court of state as well as that of beauty. 

With difficulty the disappointed lady hid her chagrin, 
bidding the Signior Grimani welcome, but excusing her- 
self under the plea of weariness from tarrying for his 
entertainment. 

The hour was late, and all day she had been engaged 
with affairs of importance. Would the noble Signior 
accept her hospitality at the hands of her steward? 
And to-morrow she should hope to have the pleasure 
of playing her own part of hostess. 

Niccolo Grimani, looking at the fair vision on the 
step above him, doubted that same excuse, since no 
weariness was visible in the lovely face or bright eyes, 
though he had been quick to notice the bitter dis- 
appointment which had crossed the lady's features at 
sight of him. 

And the knowledge that she had hoped to welcome 
another cavalier piqued his vanity. 

At the same time his answer was honey-sweet, as he 
accepted so simple a reason, whilst he twined a flowery 
compliment in the hopes of his morrow. It is to be 
doubted whether Portia di Nerlini so much as heard the 
tale of his aspirations; was she not mourning over the 
quenching of her own? 

Bassanio had not come! He never would come! 
And to-morrow must witness a fresh ordeal in this 
stranger's choice of caskets. Very wearily she, hoped 
he would be daunted by the harshness of the conditions 
and ride away — as she would all these too greedy suitors 
would ride away — but one; the one who should be her 
lover — the man she loved. 

Nerissa, no less cast down than her mistress, helped 



96 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

the latter to unrobe. She too found life a dreary 
wilderness to-night — because the Lord Bassanio had had 
a friend, one Messer Gratiano, who might have ridden 
hither in his train. 

"Will he come?" quoth the little maid to herself. 
"Will he come?" And a dimple flashed in the smooth- 
ness of a pink cheek which Messer Gratiano had been 
bold enough to caress. Remembering that stolen kiss, 
and the whisper of a lover's vows, Nerissa laughed 
softly to herself as she crept away to her own room. 

"He will come!" she told herself. "He will come!" 
and bridged those long months 'twixt spring and autumn 
with a woman's patient faith. 

But then Nerissa, having naught but her own beauty 
to tempt man's desire, had not the fear which clamored 
at her mistress' heart. No suitors rode to Belmont to 
sue for little Nerissa's hand and wealth. 

The Lady Portia slept late after many wakeful hours, 
so that Nerissa, weary of waiting for her summons, ran 
out into the sunshine to gather roses for her mistress' 
table. 

Autumn roses, crimson and white, palest pink and 
deep yellow, held in clustering fragrance in two small 
hands. 

It was at a turn in the path on her way back to the 
palazzo that Niccolo Grimani met her, Niccolo Grimani 
swaggering it in his walk as if he were already lord of 
all this fair domain. His restless black eyes sparkled 
at sight of Nerissa, and had he had his will he would 
have stolen a kiss. But Nerissa's pretty face reflected 
no gleam of coquetry, and thinking of all the mistress 
might be worth to him, Grimani was discreet in his 
greeting of the maid. 



GRIMANI PROVES IMPORTUNATE 97 

"Why, prettiest/' quoth he, "yours is a sweet task, 
for a sweeter lady. Would you could carry all my 
vows in the fragrance of yon bouquet, so that fair Portia 
might think kindly of me in her dreams !" 

Nerissa pursed rosy lips in dubious fashion. Instinct 
did not teach her to love this mincing cavalier, even 
though he came from Venice. 

"The^flowers, Signior," she replied, "are fragrant only 
for a day — maybe your vows would be as enduring." 

Grimani only laughed. 

"Roses," he answered, "are best guarded by their 
thorns. Yet I'll call a pretty maid by no such hard 
names; but you shall tell me your other, so that we may 
be friends?" 

"I am called Nerissa," said the girl, half yielding to 
his overtures, "and I am in haste to return to my 
mistress." 

"I wonder not," laughed Grimani, "since if one could 
claim the right to be beside her who would remain away? 
But let me walk with you, prettiest, whilst you tell me 
what whimsical devil put it into the late Signior di 
Nerlini's head to impose such conditions with his 
daughter's hand." 

Nerissa peeped slyly from over her screen of roses, 
and there was laughter in her eyes. 

"You have heard the conditions, Messer?" she ques- 
tioned. "And are not minded to run away as many 
suitors have done, fearing the oath of celibacy which 
follows failure?" 

Grimani shrugged his shoulders, spreading out his 
hands in the sunshine. 

"Why, truth," he answered, "the ancient Florio, who 
plays the steward here in the palazzo, acquainted me 



98 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

with the first, second and thirdly of this mighty oath — 
to all of which I cried 'Amen.' Since, if I lose Portia, 
I shall not think of mating with her inferiors." 

"Why, you talk as if you love my mistress, sir," said 
Nerissa, but there was mockery in her tones, since she 
set small store on this noble cavalier's honesty. 

"You shall tell her so and speak no less than truth, 
Nerissa," he urged. "Whilst, if your heart is tender 
for love, you'll help me in this. If — as I suspect — you 
know the secret of these three thrice cursed or thrice 
blessed caskets, you can help your mistress to much 
happiness." 

Nerissa darted him a swift glance of suspicion. 

"Why," she replied demurely, "if I were as sure of 
her happiness as of your desire, Signior, I would obey 
your request, since both should be golden. As it is, 
you must know me for an honest maid who would not 
perjure herself for a king's ransom." 

Grimani flushed darkly. He had been wondering in 
his mind what bribe would best steal the girl's secret — 
but Nerissa 's scorn showed him the truth only too 
plainly. In fear of having made a false step, he laughed 
aloud. 

"I did but jest, child," said he, "to try your truth, 
which I see is all that a good mistress deserves. Here, 
take this purse of ducats to buy a trinket against your 
wedding day." 

But Nerissa, indignant at his deception, refused the 
bait. 

"The jewel may grow tarnished," she retorted, "before 
that time — at least, that will be my prayer if all suitors 
come in your guise to Belmont, Signior; since I have 
vowed to remain maid till my mistress be called wife." 



GRIMANI PROVES IMPORTUNATE 99 

Grimani frowned. 

"Come, I'm your friend, Nerissa," he urged. "As 
to your vow, prepare to break it before the day has 
sped, since Fate being kind, the Lady Portia weds with 
me before another dawn." 

He spoke that prophecy to empty air, since Nerissa 
had fled within doors to answer her lady's summons, 
though she took care to say no word of how Niccolo 
Grimani had met her in the gardens and tried to bribe 
her into the betrayal of a beloved mistress. 

There was to be no donning of white and gold to-day, 
no rose garland for golden locks. The Lady Portia's 
mood was a heavy one, and there were dark rims about 
her eyes which told of wakeful hours. 

"The Signior Grimani waits to bid me farewell?" 
she questioned Nerissa languidly, as she stood attired 
in trailing sable garments looking out over lawns and 
woods from her casement window. 

The waiting-maid shook her head. "Nay, lady," she 
replied, "he has elected to remain, taking his oath and 
chance with the caskets." 

"He has heard all the conditions?" 

"Yes, lady." 

Portia clasped her hands. "Ah me, ah me!" she 
moaned. "When will this end? What tragedy does 
life hold for the daughter of Pietro di Nerlini? I believe 
I shall end in taking the veil and thus being rid of all 
such importunate suitors." 

"Nay, sweet Signora," urged Nerissa, "be not down- 
cast. Did not Fra Angelo himself declare that there is 
more in this choosing than mere chance? Let us add 
our prayers to those my lord your father must have 
prayed; and so hope that Heaven's blessing is safely 



100 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

locked within one of those caskets which shall be opened 
by the hand of love." 

Portia smiled. 

"You are a good comforter, little Nerissa," she replied. 
"And if this is true, why, this gentleman from Venice 
will not open the casket which reveals a bride. " 

And Nerissa understood well enough whose task it 
should be to turn the key in the lock, which opened for 
her mistress the road to happiness. 

Meantime, Niccolo Grimani was awaiting his lady 
with much impatience. He was not nattered at sight 
of her mourning robes, though he ignored the fact as 
also that of heavy eyes and pale cheeks. 

"San Marco !" cried he, kissing Portia's hand with 
extravagant devotion, "they are hard conditions which 
are imposed, lady, with this choice, but I count them 
mere thistle-down in looking at the reward." 

"It is as well," she answered coldly, "to count the 
consequences of failure. Think well, Signior. Is it 
worth the risk of vowing perpetual celibacy in the 
event of a wrong choice?" 

"Why," laughed Grimani gayly, "I have been vow- 
ing vows ever since I came to Belmont, donna mia, 
and the most constant is that there is only one bride 
in the world for me, and in losing her the rest may go 
hang, though the fairest of January's brides* besought 
my favor on her knees." 

Portia di Nerlini gave a gesture of impatience. 

"Since you are so resolved, Messer," she retorted, 
"we waste time in delay. You shall make your choice 
straightway after taking the necessary oath." 



* The brides of Venice were all married on the 31st of January. 



GRIMANI PROVES IMPORTUNATE 101 

Grimani obeyed, uttering the solemn form with a 
glibness which smacked of levity very different from 
the Prince of Morocco's stately fervor. 

Indeed, contrasting the two men, Portia felt she 
could have forgiven the dusky darkness of the Moor's 
complexion sooner than the mocking laughter of this 
Venetian noble's eyes, which stung her to anger, render- 
ing her deaf to the compliments he was so quick to turn 
in her praises. 

Entering the apartment, where screening curtains hid 
the caskets of election, she motioned to her attendants 
to disclose the gilded table with its momentous freight. 
Then, seating herself in the chair she usually occupied 
during the ordeal, she beckoned to Grimani, who stepped 
quickly forward, the smile still on his face as though 
he listened to the priestly blessing pronounced on his 
marriage rite. 

Gold, silver and lead! He scanned them all, reading 
their inscriptions, though with none of the hesitation 
shown by his predecessor of yesterday. Nor did he use 
arguments in his choice. Resting his hand on the silver 
casket, he re-read the inscription aloud in merry tones: 
" 'Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves'" 

"Why, I will assume desert, lady — and grow modest 
thereafter suing for your favor. Give me a key for 
this and instantly unlock my fortunes here." 

There was so little hesitation in the lady's acquies- 
cence that a less vain man might have paused 

But not so Grimani! He was confident enough, as 
he unlocked the silver chest and drew from it a small 
portrait with scroll of parchment dependent. 

He stared at the picture and the smile left his lips, 
so that Nerissa hid her face in her sleeve, so provoked 



102 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

was she to mirth at the glumness displayed by this 
fine gentleman from Venice, who had himself proved 
so bitter a disappointment. 

"What!" cried Grimani angrily. "What's here? 
The portrait of a blinking idiot, presenting me a schedule? 
How much unlike to Portia! How much unlike my 
hopes and deservmgs! 'Who chooseth me shall have as 
much as he deserves!' Did I deserve no more than a 
fool's head? Is that my prize? Are my deserts no 
better?" 

He glared accusingly at the lady, whose calmness the 
more inflamed his anger. 

"To offend and judge are distinct offices and of 
opposed natures," she retorted. "What says your 
legend, Signior?" 

With obvious irritation the young nobleman unrolled 
the scroll, reading aloud the contents: 

The fire seven times tried this; 
Seven times tried that judgment is, 
That did never choose amiss : 
Some there be that shadows kiss; 
Such have but a shadow's bliss: 
There be fools alive, I wis, 
Silvered o'er; and so was this. 
Take what wife you will to wed, 
I will ever be your head: 
So begone, sir, you are sped. 

Crushing the parchment in his hand Grimani tossed 
it aside, striding back across the room till he stood 
before Portia, his brow sullen, his eyes defiant. "Lady," 
quoth he, "this is but a jest. Why should we play the 
part of folly? I came hither to woo, and by the sword 
of St. Mark! you afforded me more than gracious wel- 



GRIMANI PROVES IMPORTUNATE 103 

come. Then what effect hath this juggling in parting 
us? I vow " 

The lady rose, stately and indignant, with flashing 
eyes and an air which told of final judgment. 

"Yes, Signior," she retorted, "you have vowed — here 
in my very presence to abye the consequences of your 
choice. You also vowed to straightway leave this 
place, should you fail to obtain the prize you sought. 
I will help you to the keeping of your oath. Farewell, 
Signior." 

k "Nay," cried Grimani desperately, trying to catch at 
the trailing end of her long sleeve as she passed him. 
"It is not to be endured. Can passion shrivel at such 
a mockery? I tell you, fairest Portia, I will not be so 
dismissed. I have come to Belmont to woo a 
bride " 

"And, Messer, no doubt to find a fortune," retorted 
Portia, in severe rebuke. "Both are denied you, there- 
fore it is better to say farewell, remembering your honor 
and your oath, since in forgetting them you will not win 
one who has learned to thank her dead father for a wise 
decree." 

She left him with these words of cold disdain, followed 
by her train. Grimani stared after her slender, black- 
robed figure in glowering anger, as though mindful at 
first to follow her with importunate pleadings. Then, 
thinking better of this, he turned on his heel, calling 
his followers to him, and thus leaving the palazzo — 
though not to return in the direction of the ferry which 
traded with Venice. 



CHAPTER XI 

A BROKEN OATH 

A SOFT breeze blew the perfume of flowers and 
scented shrubs across the wide lawns and shady 
paths of the Palazzo di Nerlini. 

Bees droned lazily at their honey-making and the 
rhythmic plashing of a fountain added pleasant music 
to surrounding harmony. 

The Lady Portia had stolen forth alone, glad for once 
to escape even from the companionship of Nerissa. She 
was in the mood for day-dreaming, and the perfection 
of that autumn noonday was in accord with her desire. 

The jarring note lay in her own thoughts, from which, 
alas! she could not turn herself. 

Were not these gardens empty? Was not the sun- 
shine as cold as her own heart, lacking the one presence 
which should fill all life with warmth and beauty? 
With clasped hands and bent head she paced to and 
fro, pausing to linger by the fountain where an exquisite 
group of nymphs, chiseled in purest marble, emptied 
their alabaster vases in a constant stream of sparkling 
waters into a basin of green porphyry 

Birds poured forth their songs from the spreading 
branches of the trees around. It was a spot for sweet 
dreams and tender reveries. Portia leaned her hand 
against the side of the shallow basin, gazing down into 
the clear water which mirrored her face. 

"Will he come? Will he come?" sang a thrush from 

(104) 



A BROKEN OATH 105 

the myrtle grove near. " Never — Never — Never," 
echoed the linnet from a rosebush, whose crimson 
blossoms fell softly into the waters of the fountain. 

"Why should I remember one who forgets me?" 
asked Portia di Nerlini to herself, with growing bitter- 
ness. 

And the world was without beauty for her to-day, 
since there was not even Nerissa to speak words of 
comfort, and the linnet kept on its sweet, monotonous 
refrain of "Never — never — never." 

But the thrush had flown away, startled because of 
the man who came creeping between the myrtles, till he 
stood behind the Lady of Belmont, looking down into 
the water which mirrored the two faces now side by 
side. 

Portia gave a startled cry, turning hastily to find 
Niccolo Grimani bowing, cap in hand, before her. Fear 
soon was succeeded by anger in the lady's breast. 

"Did not you take solemn oath to leave Belmont 
should you fail in your choice?" she asked haughtily. 
"I took you for a noble of Venice, Signior." 

Grimani laughed, not in the least abashed by so 
scathing a rebuke. 

"You must not blame my unfaith so much as your 
own beauty, lady," he declared. "Surely, His Holiness 
the Pope himself would absolve me did he know my 
temptation. And, if you are a woman, as I deem you, 
you will not condemn one whose love leads him by a 
contrary road to that along which honor would have 
whipped me." 

"A Nerlini," she answered coldly, "places honor 
above love." 

"I vow," laughed Grimani, "that in all Venice no 



106 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

name shall be so honored or so beloved as that of 
Portia" Grimani." 

Wrath, blazing in blue eyes, should have warned 
him that his masterfulness was unwelcome ; but Grimani 
had his own notions as to how women were best con- 
quered — for in a successful career he had not met a 
Portia di Nerlini. 

" Shall I summon my attendants, Messer, or will you 
withdraw at my command?" she asked. 

He made an eloquent gesture of protest. 

"All other commands save that shall be obeyed," he 
told her, with most unpleasing fervor. "But you 
demand the impossible. Have other suitors ridden 
away? I vow Venice breeds no such luke-warm lovers 
— as I will prove to you." 

Portia's pose was disdainful. 

"Venice woos wealth, I'm told," said she. "I do 
not doubt you are her son — though — I have known 
others — more noble — who swear by San Marco — and 
hold their honor higher than mere greed." 

His face flushed. 

"I will not go without your promise," he replied 
stubbornly. "Why should you have sent my messenger 
back with such words of welcome as fired my passion — 
only to bid me cold farewell following a mere tricking 
of choice?" 

"You know know my father's will, Messer Grimani," 
said the lady, moving away, "and by that will I have 
sworn to abide. Now, since you forget both oath and 
obligation, I wish you farewell." 

Grimani watched her with brooding eyes, saw how 
the sunlight kissed her golden locks and showed the 
beauty of a face still childish in its soft contour, but that 



A BROKEN OATH 107 

of a woman in its resolute pride. How graceful she was, 
slender as a willow, supple in every rounded limb and 
delicate curve of her beautiful body. And rich too! 
After 'all, that was the crowning goal and good for 
Niccolo Grimani, whose profligate life and gambling 
habits had brought him from easy wealth to within 
dangerous reach of bankruptcy. 

Yet to detain the lady now was impossible, since 
Nerissa, having spied her mistress' dilemma from a 
balcony of the palazzo, had sent Florio the steward to 
inquire her pleasure. 

At sight of the old man Portia's face brightened, and 
she moved towards him though still remaining within 
earshot of Grimani. 

"Florio," said she, "you shall presently return with 
me to the palazzo and, having summoned a suitable 
escort, shall take me with Nerissa to the Convent of 
St. Ursula, where I intend to spend some weeks in close 
repose of my father's soul." 

That such prayers had been offered before, she did 
not choose to add. All she desired was to convince 
the man who stood gloomily scowling under the shadows 
of the myrtle grove that she had found a plan to outwit 
him and prevent once and for all a repetition of his 
importunate wooing. 

Yet no wonder Florio listened to the order in some 
perplexity, or that Nerissa presently heard it with 
avowed regret; for what if the Lord Bassanio with 
Gratiano Marmottina came riding hither to Belmont in 
their absence? But when the maid hinted of such a 
possibility to her mistress the latter only shook her 
head. 

"They will never come, never, never, never," she 
averred. 



108 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

It had been the lament of the linnet in the garden 
yonder, as it swayed on a rose spray, sending a shower 
of crimson petals fluttering down into the marble basin 
of the fountain. It was the dirge which sounded in the 
ears of the Lady Portia as she rode behind Florio on 
her way to the Convent of St. Ursula, where, in escaping 
from a Niccolo Grimani, she bade farewell to the hope 
of welcoming Bassanio Ramberti to her home. 



CHAPTER XII 

TONI OVER-REACHES HIMSELF 

*f irT^ROM my Lord Bassanio, master, bidding you 
[""I to supper. I wait the answer.' 7 

Shylock the Jew raised his blear eyes to 
the speaker, a scowling fury twisting his harsh features. 
But at sight of Toni's expressionless face his mood 
changed, and he stretched out claw-like fingers to clutch 
at the yellow badge he wore upon the breast of his 
gabardine — that badge, insignia, with the yellow turban, 
of a despised race, which, driven from Venice by the 
Republic some years before, had been recalled of neces- 
sity to set up pawnshops and re-establish its trade of 
usury. 

The touch of that badge seemed to inspire fresh fury 
into the old man, so that he sat, shaking and mouthing 
as one in a palsy, glaring in inarticulate rage at the man 
who had till lately been his own servant. 

"May Abraham's curse be on his head!" squealed 
Shylock at last. "To sup with him? To smell pork! 
To sit down with unwashed Gentiles! But stop! why 
did he ask me? What was his purpose? Does he wish 
to be friends with the Jew — to borrow moneys on his 
own account, forgetting how highly Aaron Tubal rates 
his interest? Answer me, villain I" 

Toni shifted from one foot to the other, thoughtfully 
rubbing the knee of his long, parti-colored hose. 

T was but bidden bring the letter," he replied sul- 
ci 09) 



it ■ 



110 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

lenly, "and return with your answer. My Lord Bas- 
sanio holds a feast to-night, followed by a masque. 
All his friends are invited to supper no later than five 
o'clock — afterwards, it is said, the masquers take the 
Signior in his ship as far as the coast, whither he goes 
to woo the Lady of Belmont." 

The Jew fell to chuckling. "He asks his friends" 
he mocked. "Is Shylock friend to Bassanio Ramberti? 
Is he his enemy? Well, if I were his enemy I would go 
and feed upon him, wasting his borrowed prodigality. 
Yes, I will go. You shall give him that answer, knave. 
Go, tell him Shylock the Jew with cringing mien and 
humble heart will come to take the crumbs which fall 
beneath that table of wealthy substance. That is the 
dog's place, as Messer Antonio will tell him. So I will 
come — aye, come." 

His red-rimmed eyes grew cunning in their malice. 
Hate stared forth from beneath penthouse brows, his 
lips frothed as in a madness of desired vengeance. 

"Go!" he snarled. "What! you linger? Do you 
regret my service, boy? There is lean faring perchance 
in a marble palace, whilst here you did but eat, sleep, 
snore and rend apparel out." 

Toni glanced cautiously over his shoulder. 

"Nay," he muttered, creeping nearer to the Jew's 
chair, "but I would purchase your favor, master. 
News is worth money at times, excellency, as the house- 
holder might have said had he known of the thief's 
purpose." 

The words were significant, accompanied too by a sly 
wink, as the man peered about to make sure there was 
no listener near. 

Shylock blinked shrewdly at the mysterious speaker. 



TONI OVER-REACHES HIMSELF 111 

"What's this?"' he croaked. "A plot to rob the 
Jew?" He began to grow excited at the very thought, 
rising and plucking Toni by the doublet. 

The Venetian edged away, trying to soothe him. 

"Nay, nay," he urged deprecatingly, "though had 
there been, it would have been worth money. Say you 
not so?" 

But Shylock, alarmed at the fellow's obvious innuen- 
dos, had the would-be traitor by the shoulder, and was 
shaking him with surprising vigor. 

"Out, rogue!" he shrieked in crescendo tones. "I'll 
have you before the Senate with this tale. Thieves! 
A plot to rob the Jew! Why, if there are thieves, be 
sure ycu, as a most trusty knave, knowing my house 
and its ways, are in the swim. A thievish accomplice! 
A very proper rogue — who " 

In spite of Toni's frantic struggles, and the fact that 
he was by far the bigger and more powerful man, the 
frenzied patriarch would have dragged his victim to 
the door had not the latter been opened and Jessica 
entered. With her striped veil* flung back over a dress 
of yellow taffeta, and a crimson carnation in her raven 
locks, she was the picture of youthful beauty, so that 
more than ever Toni the greedy fell to whimpering, con- 
science-stricken in his part of traitor to a kind mistress. 
r- But Jessica paid no heed to his maudlin tears save 
to draw her conclusion. 

"Why, father," she cried, "what grieves you in this 
fashion? It is not with our wine or at our cost that 
the Gentile's servant is drunk. Why should you take 



* The dress of a Jewess was distinguished by two blue stripes on 
veil and cloak. 



112 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Bassanio's part and beat the man for a fault which no 
doubt comes of his master's lavishness?" 

Shylock paused, whilst Toni, quick to act on so excel- 
lent a hint, and in deadly fear of the Jew's purpose in 
extorting full confession of what his words had hinted, 
began to play his part of inebriate with sufficient skill 
to be convincing. 

Suddenly released from a throttling grip, he staggered 
back against the wall, protesting volubly that he had 
stolen nothing — not so much as a thimbleful of wine 
from anyone. Then artfully he explained how Signior 
Bassanio's wine flasks had been so nearly empty that 
not the strictest priest could give him penance for the 
sin of finish ing so small a measure. 

He spoke clearly — as he had before — full of sly hints 
and artful winks, weaving such rigmaroles that even his 
late master became convinced that Jessica was right 
and this matter of thieves but a mare's nest conjured up 
by a wine-fevered imagination. Yet he proved him 
with question upon question, putting a word to trip 
the fuddled Toni here and another there — Jewish wit 
against Venetian, and the latter won merely because 
Shylock deemed the fellow a dullard who would not 
have had the craft to ramble so aimlessly by intention. 
~*And all the time Jessica stood by, a vivid beauty in 
that dingy room whose costly furnishings were overlaid 
by dust and dirt, and mocked both Toni and her father, 
crying that breath was wasted upon one whose tongue 
ran on after his wit had been clogged with liquor. 

"Yet you shall tell Bassanio I sup with him to-night," 
screamed Shylock at last, taking the servant by the ear 
and bellowing into it as though he were deaf instead of 
merely drunken. "And for that matter, thou swiveling 



TONI OVER-REACHES HIMSELF 113 

sot, I will be my own messenger. Yes, my own mes- 
senger, and the death's head at the feast. What! 
There are to be masques there? Will Signior Antonio 
wear the fool's cap or the ass' head whilst drinking 
friendship with the Jew? Oh! A merry evening it 
will be! A merry evening when Bassanio bids Shylock 
to supper." 

He rubbed shriveled palms together, gloating as 
though he touched gold instead of the shadow of that 
revenge he cherished in his evil heart. Jessica was 
leading Toni to the door, and though the latter dragged 
reluctantly behind, arguing in the fashion of a wine- 
fuddled man, he was right glad presently to find the door 
closed between himself and his late master. 

In the passage Jessica turned on him in a flash, her 
black eyes accusing, whilst the hot color flamed in her 
cheeks. 

"So this is how you show gratitude for kindness," 
she whispered. a You would sell our secret, barter the 
letter with which Lorenzo entrusted you. Oh, vile 
one, I am minded to let Bassanio hear of this." 

Toni turned pale. He had indeed hoped to play a 
double and profitable game by letting Shylock know 
of the intrigue between his daughter and a Christian, 
whilst at the same time contriving to hide his own part 
of betrayal. 

Shylock's anxiety on behalf of his ducats had brought 
matters to a very different issue, and Toni trembled, 
fearing the loss of easy and profitable service. Previous 
knowledge of Jessica's shrewdness warned him that it 
was useless to attempt to deceive her again; so, throwing 
himself on his knees, he whined out a tale of debt and 
desperate straits which alone had induced the thought 



114 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

of playing a double rdle. Jessica listened impa- 
tiently. 

"My father will be coming down," she said, "and his 
ears are quick to hear secrets. Give me Signior Lorenzo's 
letter and begone. But take heed you play no scurvy 
tricks again or I shall advertise Messer Bassanio of your 
treachery." 

Toni made haste to deliver the letter which the girl 
read, her eyes sparkling, her red lips parted in an 
ecstasy, as she unrolled the parchment to the end. 

"Yes," she whispered, "I will not refuse. Could I 
do so, seeing what is at stake? Lorenzo, Lorenzo, 
keep truth with me. Can I trust a Gentile? Why, I 
myself shall soon be Christian too. Lorenzo's wife. 
What dreams fulfilled! I'll stake my soul on it, since 
if I do not go, my father will certainly wed me to Tubal, 
and I would die before being bride to such as he." 

Very deliberately she laid her hand on Toni's arm, 
fixing her large, soft eyes upon him. 

"Tell Signior Lorenzo," she commanded, "that Jessica 
will be waiting. If he sings I shall answer — and there 
is no moon to-night. Be faithful in giving this mssage, 
Toni, and you' shall not be the poorer for it." 

Toni stooped to kiss her hand. 

"Forgive?" he whispered. "Lady, you shame me. 
I confess it was an ugly greed which prompted my 
tongue. But your kindness has put such check on it 
as I vow will keep it from all unseemly wagging in future. 
I'll go straight to Signior Lorenzo with your message 
and may the devil have the picking of my bones if I 
forget one word of it." 

And so earnestly did he speak that Jessica, smiling, 
believed him. 




"Look to mv house — yes. look to it well. 



TONI OVER-REACHES HIMSELF 115 

" Besides," thought the pretty Jewess, as she fastened 
the door behind Toni, "he will have no further oppor- 
tunity for betrayal, since no sooner has my father gone 
than Lorenzo will be coming. Ah! My heart! What 
an enterprise! I must prepare too for that coming — 
don my page's garb; nor — nor will I go empty-handed 
to this new lord and love. Do I not know how to find 
a dowry in my father's room? I think it is possible! 
What sin is it in me to be ashamed to be my father's 
child! But though I am a daughter to his blood, I am 
not to his manners. And he would wed me to Aaron 
Tubal, knowing I hate him. Why then! I'll think no 
more of my own sin but of a father's injustice and 
cruelty. Ah, to-night! To-night! Lorenzo, love, keep 
tryst, for your Jessica will have no one but you to love 
and guard her." 

"Jessica! Jessica!" 

It was her father's raucous voice calling to her im- 
patiently from above. 

"Jessica! WTiat, girl, has that sot gone?" 

"Yes, father." 

She climbed the stairs, standing upon the threshold 
of his room. 

"I am bid forth to supper, Jessica," he mumbled 
grudgingly. "There are my keys. Look to my house — 
yes, look to it well. I am right loath to go. There is 
some ill brewing against me since last night ; I dreamed 
of money bags." 

He tugged at his long beard, undetermined, irresolute, 
whilst Jessica, outwardly calm, was fevered inwardly 
with suspense and fear. If her father did not go forth 
as Lorenzo had schemed, how fared her project of 
escape? 



116 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"I am loath to go," reiterated Shylock. "Yet there 
is reason for it. They say there'll be a masque. Fools ! 
Braggarts! Thus they squander the money hard thrift 
has obtained. And, whilst they feast their appetites, 
I shall be feasting too, seeing how nimbly all works to 
their undoing. Antonio will be there, curse him! But 
I would see Antonio — how I hate him! As for my 
house — hear me, Jessica. Lock up my doors, and when 
you hear the drum, and the vile squeaking of the wry- 
necked fife, see you do not go clambering up to the 
casements or thrusting your head out to gaze on these 
Christian fools with varnished faces and foolish gauds. 
I'll not let the sound of shallow foppery enter my house. 
By Jacob's staff! I swear I'm in no mood for feasting! 
But I'll go. Antonio will be there. I think he heard 
ill news on the Rialto to-day, if rumor does not lie. 
Take heed, Jessica, think of all I have bidden you 
remember. Perhaps I will return immediately. Do as 
I bid you. Shut the doors after you. Fast bind, fast 
find." 

He repeated the proverb again and again as he slowly 
descended the stairs. 

There was a curious reluctance on his part to leave 
the house that night. Perhaps a premonition kindled 
by the ill omen of a dream, to which Jews attach so 
much importance, and also a lurking suspicion that Toni 
might not have been so drunk as he seemed when he 
hinted that thieves might have a fancy for despoiling 
a rich Jew. 

But against these vague misgivings was set the stronger 
desire to come face to face with his bitter enemy, gloat- 
ing to see how with careful skill the meshes of his wide 
net of vengeance were being drawn closer. 



TONI OVER-REACHES HIMSELF 117 

He almost forgot his insatiable thirst for gain in 
dwelling on the pains and torture which he prayed he 
might be able to inflict on the young Venetian merchant, 
Antonio Cainello. 



s 



CHAPTER XIII 

LORENZO TELLS HIS PLANS 

^£^0 — check! Messer Antonio, I am the winner !" 
And Lorenzo For tuna to leaped to his feet, 
laughing gayly, whilst his quick movement 
scattered the costly chess men from the board about 
the balcony. 

In the west the sun flared towards its setting, bathing 
the waters of lagoons and canals with crimson glory, 
rose-tinting the white marble of the palaces and stately 
buildings which seemed to have risen at the command 
of some Fay Morgana out of the ocean itself; a city 
without fields or pastures, hills, valleys, roads or pleasant 
woods — but a gleaming panorama of white and gold — 
marble walls, gilded domes, with blue sky above, blue 
ocean below and the gorgeous contrast of crimson and 
orange, violet and scarlet of awnings, flags and flowers, 
which bedecked walls and balconies, as well as the gayly- 
caparisoned gondolas, which glided swan-like across the 
deep lagoons and beneath the fairy spanning of innumer- 
able bridges. 

On the Gothic balcony, projecting over the salt waters 
that washed the foundations of one of the lesser palazzi, 
sat Antonio Cainello and young Lorenzo, awaiting the 
coming of their host, Bassanio Ramberti. 

Opposite to them rose other houses, and on the wooden 
platform crowning one of these a woman leaned forward, 
watching the handsome Lorenzo with smiling eyes. 

(118) 



LORENZO TELLS HIS PLANS 119 

Her companion sat near, a large cat upon her lap, 
whilst over her loose combing-cloth of white silk 
were spread the tawny masses of her dyed hair which 
had just been freed from the solatia — a straw hat with- 
out a crown, over whose brim the hair of the Venetian 
ladies was duly drawn during the inevitable process of 
dyeing. So necessary was this part of the toilet deemed 
that wooden platforms were erected on the roofs of 
nearly every house for the females of the family to repair 
to do dye their locks and dry them in the sun. 

Lorenzo, looking up, saw the watchful beauty and 
blew her the airiest of kisses. 

"It is Donna Caterina," he observed lazily to Antonio. 
"She is a very pretty woman, but I do not admire her 
red hair. It is a pity she is at such pains to dye it; it 
would be much prettier left alone. How foolish some 
women are." 

Antonio smiled gravely. 

This gay-hearted young man was rather a favorite 
of his, and indeed everyone seemed to like Fortunato — 
who was well named, since he always managed to fall 
on his feet without undue trouble or scheming on his 
own part. A handsome face, kind heart and winning 
tongue are no bad equipment in life, as our Lorenzo 
had found. 

He was in the merriest of moods this evening, and 
sat cross-legged, a guitar in his hands, which he twanged 
now and again as though only half inclined to awake 
melody. 

And though presently he raised laughing eyes to 
Donna Caterina, he was thinking of pretty Jessica, 
whose message had been duly delivered by the chastened 
Toni. 



120 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Yes, certainly, raven locks with the blue-black gloss 
of a bird's wing on them were far more beautiful than 
dull red tresses — though of course little Caterina's skin 
was of the whitest, whilst that of Jessica was dark — 
but such a darkness! The red glow of sunset reminded 
him of it. And then her eyes! 

Lorenzo twanged his guitar again, singing passionately 
beneath his breath. 

Belina sei el ciel te benedissa, 

Che in dove che ti passi l'erba nasse! 

Then he broke off, laughing, flushing a little too as he 
caught the gaze of Messer Antonio's grave eyes fixed 
on his. 

"Would you like another game of chess, amico?" 
he asked, laying aside the guitar and beginning to pick 
up the chess men. 

Antonio shook his head. 

"You have already discomfited me too entirely," he 
replied. 

Lorenzo shrugged his shoulders. "I could be nothing 
else than a winner to-night," he retorted. "Ah! here 
comes our Bassanio, looking as concerned over his dinner 
as though he were the whole Council of Ten." 

Antonio rose, moving towards the open casement. 
Bassanio had entered the room within, in solemn con- 
verse with his sigisbeo. Every Venetian householder 
of the higher classes retained one of these indispensable 
factotums who undertook the arrangement of all domes- 
tic details. Dinner parties, masques, the management 
of the establishment, all were the concern of the sigis- 
beo, who was something more than the ordinary steward, 
and who indeed was at times accorded the greatest 



LORENZO TELLS HIS PLANS 121 

responsibilities; for where there were ladies of the 
household, he would be expected to act as their chaperon 
to parties, the theater, church or promenade, failing 
other cavalieri. 

Bassanio spied Antonio and, dismissing the sigisbeo 
with a few brief words, hastened towards his friend. 

"Ah, amico," said he, "I should have come before. 
Has Gratiano arrived yet? I have his petition to 
accompany me presently to Belmont." 

And he laughed very softly, as a lover who, after 
long waiting, hopes to see his mistress. 

"Will she welcome me?" he murmured. "Antonio, 
if you could guess what madness thrills my soul when 
I think of this lady! My only wonder is that I could 
have endured life all these months without a sight of 
her. How I am on fire to behold her, to touch her 
hand, to gaze into her eyes. And to-night I sail to Bel- 
mont. Do you wonder that I am mute for very lack 
of words to coin my gratitude to you to whom I owe 
this happiness? My friend Antonio!" 

The two grasped hands warmly— was there need of 
words after all? But Antonio could have sighed, since 
a sadder spirit warned him of the grief poor Bassanio 
would sustain should that ordeal of choice fall contrary 
to hopes which ran riot in an hour of passion. 

Lorenzo's merry voice calling to them from the balcony 
without was a pleasant distraction for Antonio. Here 
were two whose moods were one, so that he himself 
might stand aside in the shadows, rejoicing in the 
happiness of others, praying for its continuance. The 
wooden platform opposite was empty. Donna Caterina 
and her friend had retired — perhaps the former was 
disappointed that the handsome gallant on the balcony 



122 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

had not finished a song which she never doubted was 
addressed to her. 

"Lorenzo is merry to-night," explained Antonio, 
smiling, as the three young men stood, in the growing 
dusk, on the balcony. 

Lorenzo showed white teeth in a gay laugh. 

"How can I be otherwise," he questioned, "since 
the hour for adventure draws near?" 

Bassanio looked at him questioningly. 

"You speak of the masque?" he asked. 

Lorenzo shook his head. 

"Of a masque — why, yes," he retorted; "but not of 
yours, amico. ■ Shall I be masked? Most certainly. 
And will pretty Jessica be masked? I think so. At 
least, she warned me that I should not know her. But 
I vow that is impossible, since there is only one Jessica 
in all the world, though you may have your Elenas, 
your Caterinas and your Genevras by the score." 

"I do not altogether take your meaning," quoth 
Bassanio, with a wry grimace, "though I think you speak 
of the Jew's daughter." 

Lorenzo flung wide his arms. 

"The Jew's daughter!" he rhapsodized. "The Jew's 
jewel. His pearl above price. But do you not remember, 
amico, how you sent the Jew's servant — who is now your 
own — one Toni, a shrewd devil with a twisted mouth — 
to invite Shylock himself to your entertainment? So 
now I have a clear field for my enterprise, which is no 
more nor less than to run away with pretty Jessica?" 

He dropped his voice discreetly, and neither he nor 
Bassanio noticed how Antonio flinched at hearing how 
Shylock the Jew was to take part in Bassanio's festivities. 

But a light of understanding had come into Bassanio 
Ramberti's eyes. 



LORENZO TELLS HIS PLANS 123 

"I do remember/' said he, "that I did you this service 
of asking Shy lock to supper, whilst you, as you told me, 
serenaded his daughter." 

Lorenzo laughed. "Belina sei e'l ciel te benedissa," 
he sang beneath his breath. "Oh, I shall serenade her, 
Bassanio, with so sweet a lure that she will follow me 
as Orpheus' wife was lured from Hades itself. And I 
think I've smelled sulphur in the Jew's house! So my 
sweet lady will venture forth, and we shall tell over our 
fair loves together when safely 'scaped from hell and 
Master Satan Shy lock." 

"I believe you honest, Lorenzo," quoth Bassanio 
more gravely than his wont, "but I'll have your word 
that you mean to marry this maid, whose praises I have 
heard sung as often as I've listened to curses on her 
father." 

"At Genoa," replied Lorenzo, with frank sincerity, 
"I wed Jessica, the Jew's daughter. You have my oath 
on it, Bassanio. Indeed, the priest who knows my mind 
and need will wait to do us this service. The lady — 
though offspring from ignoble root — is worthy to rank 
with the highest in the land by reason of her own sweet 
graciousness." 

Bassanio held out his hand, smiling very kindly. 

"I well believe it," he said heartily, "and pray St. 
Julian's blessings on you and your dear love. Why! 
we are comrades in this, good friend Lorenzo, and speed 
the same course — though the ship which carries you 
and your bride to happiness but sends me on my way 
in search of that same blessing." 

"A brief delay if my wishes wing your journey," 
replied Lorenzo affectionately. "I would I could remain 
to drink to your prospering, Bassanio, but I must meet 



124 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

the friends who are aiding me to-night, and lay our plans 
with closest caution and care; for one needs to keep every 
sense alert when playing a game of craft with Master 
Jew. You'll make him welcome here for my sake? Set 
his goblet brimming and his tongue wagging of gain to 
be found for the seeking. Picture an Eldorado of fat 
money bags, dazzle his vision with golden ducats, and so 
entice him to linger in such an atmosphere of gilded 
wealth — for every minute will be speeding my happiness 
nearer to consummation. " 

Bassanio fetched a mocking sigh as he assented to the 
request. Glancing towards Antonio he was made aware 
that two friendships plucked him contrary ways — though 
the merchant's face was averted, nor did he give hint of 
how the evening's pleasure would be marred by his 
enemy's presence. 

"You have my help in this, Lorenzo," Bassanio said, 
" seeking it in a happy hour, since Cupid sings aloft in 
my good ship's rigging, and I have no fear but that the 
merry boy will stand my friend in guiding my choice 
to fair Portia's hand and heart. So we'll take it for 
granted that love stands crowned for you and me, and 
herewith I give you and your gentle wife that is to be, 
ready invitation to Belmont, should you and she, straying 
beyond reach of the old Jew's vengeance and thus exiled 
from Venice, find yourselves homeless. You'll come — 
and find your own happiness reflected on the faces of 
two others, fortunate in the favor of the gods." 

"Why, that's kind of you," replied Lorenzo grate- 
fully, as he flicked the petal of a fallen flower from his 
short cloak of blue velvet. "And in my own name 
and that of my wife which is to be, I answer that we shall 
certainly come to Belmont in our happy wanderings, if 



LORENZO TELLS HIS PLANS 125 

only to discover others as blessed as ourselves. Who 
finds this world a dreary wilderness is but a moping 
night-bird bereft of his wing feathers. For myself, 
friends, it seems the gladdest place that could be pictured. 
So farewell — to meet in yet merrier mood, with tales to 
tell! St. Julian's shade! What tales! Of Hades' 
'scaped, paradise gained, and a whole army of money- 
grabbing, Jew-nosed Beelzebubs put to flight. Whilst, 
for reward — a wife — a pearl — a queen, in whose kingdom 
happiness abides." 

Bassanio laughed, being no sceptic to draw another 
picture of wedded bliss, but rather a fellow worshipper at 
Hymen's shrine, where the one woman sat for adoration. 

But Antonio stood back in the shadows, left alone upon 
the balcony for the moment, whilst arm in arm Bassanio 
and Lorenzo descended to the street, which led close by 
the palazzo to one of the smaller canals, where Lorenzo's 
friends awaited him. 

"At Belmont," was Bassanio's gay word of parting. 
"I think it should be a happy meeting, Lorenzo." 

He had not a doubt or dread as he reclimbed the 
stairs to join Antonio. 



CHAPTER XIV 

THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST 

LAUGHTER, toasting, jest and song echoed through 
the apartment where Bassanio Ramberti made 
merry with his friends. 

All knew the tale of whither his ship was sailing that 
night. All knew the story of Portia di Nerlini's wealth, 
her beauty and the hard conditions attached to the 
winning of both. 

Few indeed of the guests declared they would be 
willing to put their fortunes to such a chance or vow 
perpetual celibacy for the sake of a possible winning 
of fair bride and dower. Bassanio listened to their 
raillery unmoved, ready to answer every quip, and to 
vow himself a hopeless victim to the spell of a lady's 
eyes. As for her wealth, why, he had a use for it, 
he was prepared to admit. And, as he spoke, glanced 
down the long board to where Shylock's yellow turban 
showed conspicuously amongst his seated guests. 

No one to witness such a scene would have guessed 
that the youthful host was hopelessly involved in debt. 
Mario, the sigisbeo, had done his work well. Gleaming 
silver, glittering crystal, beautiful flowers adorned the 
tables, as well as those wondrous sugar centerpieces 
which at this time invariably graced a feast. The clear 
candy was artistically moulded to represent animals, 
figures, a woodland scene, dancing nymphs or a group 
of Cupids dragging Aurora's chariot. 

(126) 



THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST 127 

Wealth and luxury were lavishly displayed, so that 
Shylock the Jew, taking careful note, mocked in his beard 
at the prodigality of these Christians. 

Antonio, watching his new-made creditor from the 
opposite side of the table, knew himself wrong in one 
respect. Whatever had induced the usurer to lend him 
moneys without equivalent interest, it was assuredly not 
kindness of heart. The old Jew's eyes were cold as those 
of a dead fish, and every time he opened his mouth to 
put food into it, it seemed that he breathed curses around. 

"Why comes not our Gratiano?" cried Bassanio 
from the head of the table. "He promised to be here 
early. Indeed, it is the stranger since he was very urgent 
in the matter of accompanying me to Belmont." 

"What," cried a youth, raising his goblet, "you take 
a rival, Bassanio? Would Gratiano also be setting his 
value on a casket's decree? San Marco! Our maids 
of Venice would need to wear mourning for a very 
Catholic gallant turned by solemn oath to drear celi- 
bacy." 

"The maids of Venice may wear the willow for 
Gratiano," replied Bassanio, "since his heart is lost." 

"Lost!" echoed another, resting his elbows on the 
table and wagging his head. "Why, if so, I warrant 
there will be hah a dozen offers to supply the vacuum. 
He need not search farther than his native Venice, even 
if his own heart be locked in a casket or a lady's money 
bags." 

Bassanio frowned. "Gratiano has nothing to do with 
caskets," he retorted. "Do you fancy there is but one 
woman in Italy — one pair of bright eyes at Belmont? 
But you shall ask Gratiano himself, since here he comes, 
wearing so gloomy a brow that I shall believe he has 



128 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

hired his own gondola, tried his own fortune and failed 
dismally in his quest." 

All eyes were turned towards the young man who came 
striding into the room. 

Unlike his usual cheery self, Gratiano was dull of 
countenance, and he tugged at the long chain around 
his neck in nervous impatience. 

Behind him came the bowing sigisbeo, who — whilst 
Gratiano paused to exchange greeting with a comrade 
who caught at his cloak in passing — hastened to his 
master's side. 

Bassanio listened to the news-bearer with clouding 
brow. 

"Why! This is very contrary to our wishes," he 
cried. "Friends all, the elements are against our revel- 
ing. Mario here informs me that the wind has risen and 
that there can be no masque to-night. But we'll not say 
that because we're tricked of pleasure it eludes us. The 
masque, Messires, is postponed, not countermanded. 
With St. Julian's blessings it shall be the merrier for a 
bride or two. What say you, Gratiano?" 

And he struck his friend lightly on the shoulder, 
trying to hide his own disappointment. 

Gratiano shook his head. 

"I also bring news," he replied, "which is no better 
than Mario's. The winds should be as feminine as Fate 
herself. And Fate as feminine as the Lady Portia di 
Nerlini, if all that is feminine spells caprice." 

Bassanio's face became blank. 

"What do you mean?" he cried — then a swift fear 
seized him. "The casket has been chosen," he mut- 
tered, "and Portia has been won?" 

It had been his dread ever since Niccolo Grimani first 



THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST 129 

told him of Pietro di Nerlini's death and the curious 
fashion of his will. 

"If she has been won/' retorted Gratiano gloomily, 
"it is not by man, but by Holy Mother Church, though 
Nicolisi, who gave me the news, could not say whether 
the lady had entered the Convent of St. Ursula as a 
novice in preparation for holy vows, or only in retreat 
to pray for her dead father's soul. Be that as it may, I 
know she has taken her maid Nerissa with her, and the 
Palazzo di Nerlini is closed against all comers." 

Murmurs of surprise, regret, even pity, ran round 
the table. Bassanio Ramberti was a general favorite, 
not only amongst the younger nobili, but with the rich 
merchants of his own age, many of whom sat now about 
the board, their gay clothing in contrast with the black 
habiliments of the nobles. But Bassanio stood silent, 
in part relieved from his first fear that Portia was lost to 
him forever, being won by some prior claimant. It 
seemed impossible that the lady, whom he remembered 
only on a day of unclouded youth and sunshine, should 
voluntarily bury herself for the rest of her life in a 
convent cell. 

No, this was, as Gratiano suggested, but a temporary 
retreat. He would yet seek, woo and win her in a golden 
hour. 

Yet the postponement was hard enough to bear, clogged 
as it was by many difficulties and anxieties, which would 
shape themselves into definite forms of threatening as 
he came to dwell on them. 

For the present he must not forget his obligation 
to assembled friends, or the fact that he was master of 
a feast, the extravagance of which impressed him now 
as he saw the yawning of many dismal days and weeks 



130 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

between himself and that happy fortune whose crown 
was Portia di Nerlini. With an effort he returned to his 
entertainment, failing to notice the animation which had 
kindled on old Shylock's face, the glee with which the 
Jew had listened to Gratiano's intelligence and the malice 
of his glance directed from his host towards Antonio 
Cainello, whose sympathy for his friend was apparent to 
all. 

The gayety of the feast had vanished. The bubbling, 
eager joy of their host, so full of true merriment, had gone, 
to be replaced by something forced and labored. 

Bassanio laughed, but the sound rang hollow, not 
hiding altogether the aching heart which disappointment 
brought. High hope had been blighted and the shadow 
of its death haunted the eyes which tried for sake of 
courtesy to smile at the limping jests which passed from 
mouth to mouth with poor attempts to rekindle a 
quenched flame. 

At last the strain was over. Guests, ready enough now 
to hasten their departure, bade their host good-night, 
each adding his hope that the lady would yet be won 
with small delay. 

"Bare walls are but ill exchanged for gilded mirrors," 
declared one gallant, encouragingly, "and so fair a lady 
will weary for a lover's whispers in place of a confessor's 
drone." 

"I shall hope so," replied Bassanio, with his ready 
smile, "and hold myself prepared to take the confessor's 
part." 

"Though she will not be telling you of her sins," 
laughed his friend, "but, if she loves you, will declare 
yours to be the fault that you came not sooner." 

The careless words stabbed their listener. Had not 



THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST 131 

that been the reproach of his own heart? How could he 
have let those golden months of summer pass him by in 
Verona and Rome, when he might have been pleading 
his cause into kindly ears at Belmont? 

They had all gone at last, that troop of merry friends, 
grown grave in sympathy with their host's sore heart. 
He had been so confident in his hopes. Yet his ship 
would be at anchor to-night down there by the quays, 
nor take a lover across those ruffling waters to the side of 
his longed-for mistress. Amongst the last to go was 
Shylock the Jew, who had waited, ready to hear the news 
which brought discomfiture to these his enemies, who 
feasted him on luxuries bought with his own money — 
to be redeemed at his own price. His red-rimmed eyes 
peered cunningly up into Bassanio's grave face and, as 
he thanked him for his hospitality, marked the contempt 
which for an instant shone in the gray eyes looking down 
upon him. 

So Bassanio, in inviting him here, had not believed in 
a Jew's kindness! 

Then wherefore had he asked him? To borrow more 
ducats? Well, he would refuse the loan ! Yes, he would 
refuse it. Was not Antonio bound already — Antonio, 
who was his enemy? 

But as the old usurer limped home, well content with 
the news he had gleaned at Ramberti's feast, he wondered 
yet again why he had been asked. Not for love — and not 
for business. In bidding him good-night, Bassanio had 
made no mention of a loan — had failed to draw him aside 
with suave request and liberal promises of interest. 
Why, then, had he asked him to feast? Shylock the Jew 
clawed at his long beard as he stood, like some grim bird 
of prey, waiting for a boatman with whom to bargain 
for a cheap passage home. 



132 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"The Jew returns to an empty house," quoth Bassanio, 
standing beside Antonio on the marble steps, awaiting 
the coming of the merchant's gondola; "that is to say, if 
Lorenzo's star shines in a happier hour than my own." 

Antonio Cainello laid an affectionate hand on his 
friend's shoulder. 

"Nay," he urged, "do not wear so heavy a brow, 
Bassanio. At least the lady is not already plighted. 
Nor do I believe she has entered the convent excepting 
as a retreat from importunate suitors. Soon she will 
return home, and you shall go and try to win her to more 
confidence and trust. If prayers are heard in Heaven 
I am sure your happinesr is assured. Daily I petition for 
that same gift for you. A gift above all others which 
Heaven can dower us poor mortals with — a woman's 
love." 

Bassanio laughed rather bitterly. 

"You speak warmly of woman's love, amico," he 
declared, "yet a moment before you convince me you 
have never sought it, else you had not spoken so dis- 
passionately of delay. Oh, this delay! It maddens me, 
Antonio. I, who had dreamed that before another 
sun rose, I should be seeing the glory of my lady's eyes. 
I, who had hoped not to listen again to the songs of 
wakening birds before I heard the music of her voice. 
You smile! A lover's rhapsodies, you say. Yet you're 
young too, Antonio, though grave beyond your years. 
Is it because you have gone too empty of a love which 
sets the gravest back to the follies of his childhood? 
Oh, to be young and love! To love and possess! But 
your ears are dull to such a yearning. Shall I ever jest 
with you, Antonio, because you have committed the folly 
of loving a woman? But I do not think I would jest 



THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST 133 

either. Love is too sweetly sacred for such gibings. 
We worship at its shrine, not knowing half the mystery 
of its powers. That is to love. But you do not under- 
stand, Antonio." 

Antonio did not reply. Even, and above all, to this 
dear and treasured friend he could not tell the secret 
which convent walls had closed round, and death had 
sealed with its mystic touch. Yet, gazing upwards to 
the dark vault of the heavens, he saw a star shine — saw 
it through a mist of sudden tears. 

Did he not understand the vain yearning of an aching, 
passionate heart? Had he never cried that voiceless, 
inarticulate cry of love and desire which might never 
reach mortal ears? 

And was it possible that his love, deathless in its 
essence, purified of carnal taint, should one day find 
realization in another world? Would Bianca Ramberti, 
that sweet and lovely saint who had looked his heart 
away, listen in tender harmony of soul to the tale of a 
great love, untold on earth but repeated at length on 
an eternal shore? 

Bassanio talked on, heedless of his friend's abstraction, 
assuredly never guessing its reason. So he spoke only 
of himself — and Portia. Of his love — and of her beauty. 
Of hopes, of fears, of doubt and joy, knowing that he 
spoke to one of whose sympathy he was certain. Could 
it be otherwise? Was not this Antonio his proven 
friend — his best and dearest friend, confidant, brother — 
who had ever the listening ear, the tender heart and the 
generous purse for him? 

Warmly the two men clasped hands as the gilded 
gondola glided down the canal towards the steps. 

"Farewell, Antonio." 



134 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"Farewell, Bassanio." 

Far off came the echo of a serenade. 

The moon was rising in the east — shedding soft, 
effulgent light upon the waters so lately lashed by con- 
trary winds. 

The brief storm was over — but Bassanio's ship would 
not sail to-night. 

"But for him, Heaven willing, there will be a to- 
morrow," thought Antonio, as he seated himself on the 
cushioned seat of his gondola. " A to-morrow on earth — 
of love's fulfilment." 

He wrapped his cloak more closely round him. " Bianca 
mia," he whispered. "Ah, Bianca — for you am not I 
ready to wait through an eternity? But, for one smile, 
love, my love — who yet was never mine — but Heaven's. 
A gift perhaps to be given back again — in the great 
dawning." 

He raised his face with a patient smile. 

This was the man whom Bassanio Ramberti, in his 
hot, impetuous youth, had vowed could never have 
loved. 



CHAPTER XV 

THE ELOPEMENT 

THE night was dark. Clouds drifted across the 
sky. The waters of the lagoon were whipped 
into tiny wavelets by a freshening breeze. 

Down a narrow street hurried three figures, cloaked 
and masked. They halted presently beneath an arch- 
way, checked by their taller comrade. 

"Wait for me here," whispered Lorenzo eagerly. 
"Watch carefully. I do not trust that Jew. He has 
gone to Bassanio's, but he may return at any moment, 
too soon for my purpose. So, good friends, watch for 
me, and if at any future time you play the thieves for 
wives, I'll wait as long for you." 

He stepped into a small boat, moored under shadow 
of a bridge, in waiting for him, and pushed of! towards 
the winding curve of the canal. 

"Bring the warning if any approach," he cried back 
to where his friends, Salarino and Salanio, stood with 
their cloaks wrapped closely about them as protection 
against the strengthening breeze which was destined to 
put an end to Bassanio's masque. 

The two young men laughed softly, waved their 
affirmative reply, and began to pace slowly up and down 
the narrow street bordering the canal. They had been 
pleased enough to lend ready ears to Lorenzo's persua- 
sions and give their assistance in carrying out any 
scheme to the discomfiture of Shylock the Jew, who 
was very unpopular amongst Venetian citizens; for, 

(135) 



136 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

whilst the latter used him from necessity, they hated 
him for his heathen extortions, since Tito Scappini, the 
poor fisherman whom Antonio the merchant had be- 
friended, was not the only one to have found Shylock 
a cruel taskmaster. So Messers Salarino and Salanio, 
swaggering it up and down the pathway that dark night, 
laughed softly as they whispered together that not only 
the Rialto, but all Venice would be ringing to-morrow 
with the story of how the pretty Jewess had run away 
with Lorenzo Fortunate 

Lorenzo had found the funereal looking house at the 
corner darkened and silent. In fact, so much darkness 
was perplexing, since without a glimmer of moonlight 
he could not even see the bridge on the right. What if 
Jessica, recalling that she was Abraham's daughter 
even whilst forgetting that Shylock was her more 
immediate and less worthy parent, had resolved against 
wedding a Christian? 

The young man sighed. He was quite as impetuous 
as Bassanio, and really had fallen deeply in love with 
pretty Jessica. Being as improvident as men of such 
natures usually are, he had not troubled to think so much 
of money or how he was prepared for the expenses of 
matrimony. All that mattered to him was that he 
wanted Jessica. Aye, and meant to have her too, 
with the more determination since he could not win her 
as any other maiden of his choice might have been won. 
He had rested his oars and, taking up the lute, which 
lay at the bottom of the boat, began to sing the song with 
which Venetian swains addressed their mistresses. 

Yea, thou art fair, I pray the heavens to bless thee, 
For where thy footsteps fall the grass is spread 
In springtide vendure underneath thy tread, 
As though the spring were born but to caress thee. 



THE ELOPMENT 137 

The clear, full notes of his tenor voice rang upwards 
passionately, whilst with eager eyes he watched the 
darkened balcony above. 

Yet it was from within the house that the answer 
came, sweet, but low-pitched, with deep thrills of emotion. 

Tis Nane brave and Nane fair 

That's walking in yon field; 
And where he treads the grasses there 

Bow down to him and yield. 
They bow to greet his dearest feet, 
And make him low obeisance. 
The loving heart, it is its part 
To watch and wait in patience ! 

And, as Lorenzo listened to the words which blushing 
maids had sung, for centuries through, behind sheltering 
casements, he laughed aloud and sprang up in his boat, 
watching how a flicker of light danced hither and thither 
above, showing the outline of the grim old house and the 
abutting balcony, out upon which stepped the slender 
figure of a page, holding a lighted torch aloft in his left 
hand. 

A page! But what a page! The dark green cloak, 
closely fitting doublet and hose, only served to mark 
more distinctly every grace and beauty of the figure, 
whilst beneath the feathered cap a face showed, lit up 
by the smoking torchlight; a, face of dark, glowing 
beauty, a black curl astray over a low, broad forehead, 
accentuating the beauty of the black eyes with their 
drooping lashes. 

" Jessica!" cried Lorenzo softly. "Carissima — how 
I love you! Come quickly, for every moment is an 
eternity before I clasp you in my arms." 

"You have come to take me away?" she whispered, 



138 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

reluctant in her dallying now that the crucial moment 
had arrived. 

"Why else am I here?" he demanded. "Our gondola 
awaits us close to the Palazzo di Dolfini. We sail for 
Genoa to-night. The morning sees you my loving bride. ' ' 

"Your loving bride indeed," she whispered, bending 
low over the parapet so that the torchlight fell on her 
lover's upturned, handsome face. "For whom love I so 
much? And now, who knows but you, Lorenzo, whether 
I am your love?" 

He stretched yearning arms towards her. 

"Heaven and your woman's heart should be witness 
to that," he retorted. "But do not delay, Jessica. You 
trust me?" 

For the briefest of moments she hesitated. Was it 
wonder, poor child, since she had been born and bred 
in the atmosphere of suspicion? 

Yet not for long did she delay. Was she not indeed 
looking upon a lover's face? Fair, gay, handsome, 
the very soul of her passionate dreams, whilst in the 
shadows from which she had come forth, lurked the 
threatening forms of her father and Aaron Tubal. 
Aaron Tubal! How she hated and feared that man; 
his craft, his cunning, above all his appraising of her, 
his mocking air of possessiveness from which she drew 
back shuddering and afraid. 

So she laughed, bending lower over the balcony. Had 
not her loving heart watched and waited in patience? 
She had decided to launch forth now upon their new 
life, trusting blindly and solely to the man who held 
out his arms to her from below. 

Thus she laughed, the swift blushes dyeing her cheeks, 
her eyes mischievous in their coquetry. 




'Take this packet," she cried. 



THE ELOPMENT 139 

"Take this packet," she cried, "it is worth the pains. 
A casket of jewels, Lorenzo, which, being possessed of 
my father's keys, I took for dowry. Ah! you have it? 
And now the ladder. Yes, I will come this way, leaving 
the doors and casements barred and bolted against my 
father's return. See, I put out the torch, and — and I am 
glad it is night, Lorenzo, so that you cannot see your 
little page — for indeed I am ashamed of my exchange. 
Would not Cupid himself blush to see me transformed 
to a boy?" 

A soft laugh answered her, and soon strong arms were 
about her, passionate lips pressed hers, and Jessica 
forgot all doubts, diffidence and fears in her lover's 
embrace. 

Half laughing, half crying in her ecstasy, she allowed 
him to place her on the cushioned seat, whilst with rapid 
strokes Lorenzo shot the little craft out into the middle 
of the canal. 

Till they had left Venice behind them, till indeed this 
Jewish maid was his lawful wife, their peril would be 
great, since Shylock was not the man to be robbed with- 
out seeking restitution with clamoring insistence. 

And there were the jewels which Jessica had spoken 
of. She spoke of them again, a little breathlessly, 
though triumphing in her bold deed. 

"I have ducats here," she told Lorenzo, with the glee 
of a naughty child who has escaped from some hard 
bondage, taking toll from his captor at the same time; 
"but the jewels are the most valuable. There are many 
jewels — some were my mother's. They are mine, my 
right, Lorenzo; and for the rest, I take them as dowry. 
You are pleased, dear Lorenzo?" 

He laughed exultantly. 



140 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"Why!" he cried, "we shall be rich, carissima, instead 
of poor. Is not that well? Indeed, I thought of noth- 
ing but the wealth of our love; but you have been more 
thrifty of soul. So, with this dowry, sweet, we'll go to 
Genoa, thence to Verona, perhaps to Rome. Gay will 
we be and joyous, since love gilds all — the love which 
leaps and dances in our veins. My bride, my Jessica, 
am not I wholly yours — as you are mine? But I vow 
these jewels shall add to our merry-making. San Marco! 
What will your father say when he knows the truth? 
But we'll not think of him. Are you his daughter? 
Nay, you are my wife. That bond's enough for both. 
You shall tell me so presently, Jessica — but now, see 
where those figures stand waiting for us? Do not start, 
sweet, for these are friends." 

She clung to him in such a maze of fears and joy 
that she scarcely heard his whispers. 

"Friends!" she echoed. "I thought one was Aaron. 
Oh! My heart suffocates me with dread. If it should be 
Aaron Tubal! And if not, if they be indeed your friends, 
Lorenzo — oh! I shall die of shame to be seen by them, 
in this immodest dress — and only cloak enough to hide 
my blushes in." 

"Nay, if you will, we'll play an innocent deception 
which shall deceive no one and nothing but your fears," 
replied Lorenzo. "Ha, my friends, I crave your patience 
for my long delay, but this dear page of mine was long in 
finding what he needed most; was it not your courage, 
boy? But now we'll not delay, since night draws away, 
and if Shylock does not attend good Bassanio's masque, 
he'll be thinking of home and his bed." 

Salarino laughed. A pendant lamp, swinging from a 
hook in a doorway, had shown him the page's face — he 



THE ELOPEMENT 141 

was certainly a pretty boy and worth waiting for; but 
young Salanio looked away, noting in kindly sympathy 
how Lorenzo's companion shrank to his side in shy con- 
fusion, so that Lorenzo was quick to place a circling arm 
about his slim waist. The Jew would decidedly be a 
poorer man on his return home that night — and Salanio 
had it in his heart to envy the thief who was carrying off 
so fair a prize. 

Lorenzo chattered gayly as the four made their way 
by tortuous paths towards the spot where, close to the 
arched basements of the ducal palace of the Dolfini, a 
gondola with attendant gondoliers was waiting for 
them. 

The wind had dropped, overhead the stars shone, 
though the moon had not yet risen. 

The sound of the water, softly lapping the basements 
of the great palace, which rose white and gleaming 
through the darkness, was all that broke a long minute's 
hush, as the four figures emerged from a side street and 
stood beckoning the drowsy gondolier. 

But Lorenzo's arm girt Jessica very closely. He 
knew she needed its protection sorely now, as she watched 
the approaching gondola gliding forward like a silent 
figure of Fate. 

She was so young, had lived, like all the women of 
her race, so secluded a life, that no wonder she trembled 
as she turned her back on the only existence she had 
ever known, and went forth to a new one with the man 
she loved. 

And Lorenzo Fortunato, bending low to look into 
the lovely flower-like face, hah hidden against his arm, 
felt a new sense of responsibility, of protective man- 
hood and loyal devotion born within him. The old, 



142 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

volatile Lorenzo, the jesting, merry-making, idling 
Lorenzo, of the Piazza San Marco and every wine shop 
in Venice, must die to-night since this fair child who 
was scarcely woman yet had given herself to his care. 

" Jessica mia," he murmured passionately. "Ah, 
carissima — how I love you!" 

She smiled back at him, a tremulous smile of con- 
fidence. 

"I love you too, Lorenzo," she answered, too low 
for either of their companions to hear. "I trust you." 

The gondola was at their feet. The murmur of 
waters was in their ears. Behold a starlit way to 
Genoa — and happiness. 

"I love you," Lorenzo had said, and gentle Jessica 
had made the same answer. 

Was not that sweet assurance enough to launch forth 
with to the new life? 

On the quay near stood those who had played the 
patient watchers in the night's romance; each was 
smiling to himself as he watched the dark shadow of 
the gondola vanish into the deeper gloom of the night. 

"She is very beautiful," said Salarino softly. "I 
think our friend Lorenzo has found a treasure in the 
Hebrew's house." 

"It remains," quoth Salanio in reply, "to see how 
ancient Shy lock takes the theft of it. For myself, I 
believe he would have grieved more if Lorenzo had 
stolen one of his money bags." 

The speaker did not know how Jessica had brought 
her husband a dowry as well as her own fair self. 



J 



CHAPTER XVI 

ROBBED ! 

M \ ESSICA! Ho there! Jessica!" 

Shy lock's voice grew rasping in his indignation. 
It was one thing to bid his daughter bar door 
and casements against possible burglars or too hilarious 
masquers, but quite another when that daughter, no 
doubt grown sleepy over her vigil, remained deaf to her 
father's summons. 

Again Shylock, belaboring the stout door, screamed 
loudly for admittance. 

No answer was vouchsafed, though presently a white 
ray of moonlight, falling softly athwart the dark face 
of the house, showed its infuriated owner an open case- 
ment leading out onto the balcony, whilst surely there 
was something ominous in the sight of an extinguished 
torch laid at an angle across. the parapet. 

" Jessica!" he yelled, kicking and smiting the un- 
yielding door in his rage. "May Abraham's curse fall 
upon the girl if she has played me false! Jessica, I 
say!" 

Lower down the street, on the opposite side, a case- 
ment was being opened by fumbling fingers, and a man's 
head wrapped in a nightcap was thrust forth. Seeing 
who it was whose noisy home-coming had disturbed his 
slumbers, this man fell to cursing the whole twelve 
tribes of Israel in no measured tones. Not that Shylock 
heeded him. He was used to curses, and took revenge 

(143) 



144 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

on them by extorting the last coin in payment of debts, 
heedless of prayers or entreaties. 

"Jessica!" he yelled. "Ho! Jessica!" 

His fears were growing; it was impossible that his 
daughter could be sleeping through this din, since the 
casement of her bedroom was open. 

"Why!" screamed he of the nightcap, wagging 
a mocking head from the upper window. "You may 
squeal till crack of doom for that black-eyed slut, since 
with my own eyes I saw her not two hours since descend 
from that balcony into the arms of Lorenzo Fortunate." 

And with that he slammed to the casement, retiring 
back to his bed, secretly chuckling as he thought of 
the stark horror on the face of the old man who had 
become dumb with paralyzing fear and fury. 

Jessica gone! Jessica fled with a Gentile! Shylock 
reeled, almost falling back into the canal in his terror. 

Did he not only too well remember that he had en- 
trusted his daughter with his keys? 

But the man in the nightcap was able to sleep again 
undisturbed by cries upon an unresponsive daughter. 
What use to call for Jessica, since Jessica had gone? 
With trembling limbs and fast-beating heart the old Jew 
crossed the bridge, going hastily on his way in search 
of that assistance which he knew unloving neighbors 
would refuse him. 

It was at Aaron Tubal's door that he first knocked, 
calling so loudly that Aaron came stumbling down in 
frowsy night attire to demand whether his ancient 
friend had been robbed of a fortune. 

When he heard that it was merely a daughter, the 
younger Jew's swart face grew black. He had wished 
for Jessica, had bargained indeed with her father for a 



ROBBED! 145 

speedy marriage. Himself a wealthy man, he had a 
covetous eye for Shylock's hoarded gold, whilst, over 
and above this first consideration, he admired Jessica's 
beauty. Yes, he desired her for his wife, he intended 
to have her. Already he had made all necessary arrange- 
ments for the reception of his bride, and Shy lock's mid- 
night news came upon him as an unpleasant shock. 

Yet he did not altogether believe it. Jessica was 
but a child, brought up in the seclusion of her father's 
house. She would never have dared venture on so 
bold a step, or, if she had, she could speedily be brought 
back. The probability of a Venetian of Lorenzo's 
standing marrying the daughter of a Jewish usurer 
did not enter his calculations. 

Hastily putting on his gabardine over his night attire 
and thrusting down his yellow bonnet over the dirty 
nightcap which adorned his head, he came shuffling 
after the impatient Shylock, together with a blinking 
servant who brought tools for breaking the lock of the 
door. Shylock gave no explanation of the night's events, 
he could speak no word, think of nothing till he had 
entered his house and satisfied himself that his gold and 
jewels were safe. 

Tubal muttered in his beard as he followed the elder 
man's hurrying footsteps. He was angry at being 
disturbed, still angrier at its cause. He would take 
payment for this from pretty Jessica later on when she 
had the honor to be his obedient wife. Meantime 
they reached Shylock's house, and the work of forcing 
an entry was commenced. 

Several casements were opened by now, and watchers 
more curious than sleepy peered out, beginning to jest 
and mock as they saw what was happening. The man 



146 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

who had witnessed the elopement had roused again, 
and soon raised a laugh by his tale. 

Shy lock and Tubal, inwardly raging at the coarse 
jesting and levity which this trouble had aroused, urged 
on the servant to hasten in forcing the lock. Alas! 
there were the bolts to be reckoned with, and Shylock 
fell to tearing his beard in a frenzy of impatience, as he 
danced up and down on his steps, screaming and revil- 
ing at the slowness of the fellow who sweated at his toil 
and grumbled that it was so ill-requited. 

As for Tubal, he stood with folded arms, patiently 
awaiting the chance of entry. 

More casements were opened, laughter and chatter- 
ing voices drifted the length of the canal. 

What! A rare jest this! Jessica, the black-eyed 
Jewess, had eloped with Lorenzo Fortunato — and 
probably taken her father's money bags with her. 

Shylock foamed at the mouth as he heard his own 
deep fears voiced in ribald lightness. 

The great door, unhinged at last, fell back and Shylock, 
with Tubal at his heels, vanished into the darkness 
beyond. 

This was disappointing to the spectators, some of 
whom shut their casements and returned to bed, whilst 
others lolled lazily out, chatting, surmising, speculating, 
as they saw lights gleaming from the corner house which 
a few moments before had been in darkness. 

The moon had risen now, though the rays only partially 
penetrated that narrow alley. Here and there a ladder 
of light was flung across the canal, but the rest was still 
in shadow. 

Then suddenly a piercing shriek rang out from the 
Jew's house, a shriek so agonized, so intensely suffering, 



ROBBED! 147 

that men and women crossed themselves, whilst the 
latter whispered in awed accents, "Is it possible she is 
dead? The young Jewess with the black eyes?" And 
more than one mother remembered little kindnesses 
shown by Jessica to their children. But the man in the 
nightcap laughed raucously. 

"More like she has stolen his money — the baggage!" 
he said. "Not that I blame her, since the old villain 
owes her more than she could take for the wrong of 
fathering her." 

And, as it happened, Nicolosi was right in his prophecy, 
since, at the moment he uttered it, an old man lay, half 
swooning, before his ransacked drawers. His worst 
fears had been realized. Jessica had robbed him — not 
only of his gold, but the jewels which he hoarded with 
such jealous care in this inner cupboard. 

Shylock had scarcely been able to climb the stairs in 
his terror of anxiety, had barely tottered across the 
room, to strike tinder and flint and light the candle 
which instantly showed him what he had vowed he 
could not see. 

Alas! What use to say it was impossible? What 
use to argue that this was a nightmare from which he 
would awake, sweating but relieved to find it but a 
dream? This was no dream, but sober, ugly truth, 
shown him in two empty drawers, which had been left 
overturned on the floor. 

His ducats had gone! Worse still, his jewels had 
gone ! There was the bitterness of death in that wailing 
cry which reached TubaPs ears as he followed the elder 
man into the room where Shylock now lay prone upon 
the ground. 

So it was true! Lorenzo had the girl — and the jewels. 



148 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Tubal's face grew blacker than before, as he stood cursing 
— not only the man — but the girl whom he had hoped 
to make his wife. 

She had gone! Fled this very night. Gone! 

Tubal seized the prostrate Shylock by his shoulder, 
dragging him up. His little eyes gleamed evilly and his 
thick lips seemed swollen by his rage. 

"Come/' he cried huskily, "we must find Jessica — 
overtake her and this Christian lover. Get back the 
girl — and the jewels." 

The words infused new life into the despairing 
Shylock. 

Old and withered as he was, his shrunken form seemed 
to dilate with new vigor, his claw-like ringers clutched 
and grasped at the empty air. 

"You are right," he articulated with difficulty, 
"quite right, Aaron. We will find her, we will bring 
the jewels back." 

"And the girl," suggested Tubal, gnawing at his nails. 
"We will bring back the girl." 

"And the jewels," repeated Shylock, wringing his 
hands, whilst his voice rose in a wailing crescendo. 
"The jewels and my daughter. My ducats too! Fled 
with a Christian. My curse on her if we do not find 
them. Come, Tubal, we'll rouse the Duke. Without 
an instant's delay we'll rouse the Duke. There's plotting 
in this — the devil's plotting. Oh, woe is me! My 
ducats. In two sealed bags, Aaron. The ducats I've 
toiled for, contrived for, planned for. My ducats, my 
jewels — and my daughter! But the Duke shall help 
me find them." 

He smote his head, beat his clenched fists against 
his breast, and then, closely followed by Tubal, hastened 



ROBBED! 149 

out and away across the bridge in the direction of the 
ducal palace, watched by gibing neighbors, who mocked 
at his distress, crying out that he would have to run 
faster if he wanted to overtake his daughter's tripping 
footsteps. 

But Shylock paid no heed, being deaf to all but his 
own piteous cries. 

"My daughter! Oh, my ducats! Fled with a Chris- 
tian! Oh, my Christian ducats! Justice! The law! 
My ducats, my jewels, my daughter! Find the girl — 
she has the jewels on her!" 

So, up the narrow streets and by the winding water- 
ways he and his companion came at length to the Ducal 
Palace, where the Duke of Venice, Niccolo da Ponte, 
was about to retire to rest after the entertaining of 
various distinguished guests from Italy and Spain, who 
at the time were on a state visit to the city. 

This Niccolo da Ponte, during his seven years of office 
as Doge or Duke of the Venetian Republic, had proved 
himself a just and broad-minded man, whose chief inter- 
est was centered in the welfare of his people. Under 
his beneficent rule the proud motto of the republic, 
" Bread in the market place — Justice in the palace," 
was more than ever established. 

Venice indeed was at the height of that golden age 
of prosperity which drew upon her the eyes and envy of 
all Europe. 

Magnificent entertainments, splendid palaces, luxury 
and revelings of all kinds, showed her visitors a glimpse 
of that wealth which her nobles and citizens so lavishly 
expended. 

The Ducal Palace was but one amongst her gorgeous 
buildings. Enclosed on three sides by Gothic arcades, 



150 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

the fourth abutted directly upon the southern face of 
St. Mark's Church with charming effect. The beautiful 
bronze well-heads or "pozzi" lent a singularly attractive 
appearance to the open courtyard, from which the palace 
itself was entered by the Scala dei Giganti, one of the 
most beautiful external staircases in the world, decorated 
with exquisite bas-reliefs in marble, and crowned by 
Sansovini's "Mars and Neptune," between which 
colossal statues the coronation of the Doges took place. 

One of the strangest features of this magnificent build- 
ing was the famous letter box known as the "Lion's 
Mouth," which opened from without, so that any state- 
ments, petitions, denunciations and appeals, might be 
thrown into it, the contents of the great box daily read 
in camera by the assembled Inquisitors of the Republic. 

But Shylock the Jew would not be contented by pre- 
senting his petition for justice in so roundabout a manner. 
His need was urgent, and he urged it so hotly that even 
the soldiers of the Duke's guard were impressed by his 
frantic manner, though perhaps it was Aaron Tubal's 
quiet distribution of ducats which succeeded in winging 
the feet of a willing messenger to the Duke. Weary as 
he was, Niccolo da Ponte was not the man to hear the 
appeal for justice in vain. 

Lesser nobles might and did mock at the demand of 
a Jew usurer, and speak lightly of his daughter's honor. 
But the Duke silenced them with grave rebuke. 

No doubt his daughter was as dear to the Jew as she 
would have been to a Christian parent. Yet, when da 
Ponte had listened to old Shylock's hysterical denuncia- 
tion, he was perhaps less convinced as to this. 

True, Shylock — and Tubal too — urged the necessity 
for the immediate restoration of the missing Jessica; 



ROBBED! 151 

but so interspersed was the father's demand with allusions 
to his lost jewels and ducats that many of the Duke's 
servants were openly laughing before the appeal was 
concluded. 

To judge by Shy lock's grief, it would seem he ranked 
his losses thus — jewels — ducats — and, more remotely — 
his daughter. Yet, since the finding of the last was 
necessary in the recovery of the two former, the old 
Jew clamored volubly that this Lorenzo For tuna to, a 
thieving vagabond, a greedy villain and designing knave, 
should be searched for, arrested and kept in durance 
till all Shylock's belongings were restored. 

Many of the nobles urged on the Duke that this 
matter must wait till morning, roughly bidding Shylock 
return and present his petition in due form next day, 
railing at him for his importunity. But da Ponte 
silenced his friends gravely. 

"We must do what we can," quoth he, "lest the 
wrong this Fortunato hath done become irremediable 
by our delay. Peace, Shylock," he added, turning to 
the still whimpering Jew, "and if your daughter — your 
ducats — and your jewels still be in Venice you shall have 
speedy restoration of your own." 

Shylock bowed, cringing and servile, in his thanks, 
yet his blear eyes were wicked in their hate as he followed 
the train of the Duke toward the quays, and he cursed 
again and again not only Lorenzo but his daughter. 



M 



CHAPTER XVII 

A VAIN SEARCH 

"IV /T^ Lord Bassanio's ship?" quoth the Duke, 
as he stood on the quays, his nobles gathered 
in a semicircle near him, whilst Shylock 
and Tubal, a grim pair of night-birds seen in that white 
moonlight, stood apart, side by side, muttering together. 

"Bassanio Ramberti, if it please Your Grace," quoth 
Gratiano Marmottina, who, wandering along the deserted 
Piazza, out-at-elbows with a world which placed convent 
walls between him and his Nerissa, had come upon that 
strangely animated group about the quays. "Ramberti 
is my friend. We should have sailed to-night for Bel- 
mont had I not been advertised before of a bootless quest. 
So, though the ship was chartered, we have not gone, 
which explains her presence here." 

Shylock spat on the ground, repeating a name with 
venom. 

"Bassanio Ramberti! Bassanio Ramberti!" he mut- 
tered, and remembered how Toni Panocchi, having 
left his service for that of the young Venetian noble, had 
come to summon him to supper at Bassanio's house. 

Yes, and more than that! For had not Toni, whether 
drunk or sober, fool, knave or honest patch, hinted at 
some plot to rob the Jew? To rob the Jew! 

Why, here stood the plot revealed. Bassanio, An- 
tonio and Lorenzo, all friends in love to each other. 
All enemies of hate towards him. How nimbly came 

(152) 



A VAIN SEARCH 153 

the conclusion. Lorenzo loved Jessica, coveted her 
father's wealth, planned to steal both, was aided and 
abetted by reckless Bassanio, prompted perhaps by the 
grave young merchant, who, more than all, had shown 
dislike and contempt of Shylock. 

So Bassanio summoned the Jew to supper, not for 
love nor for the purpose of increasing his debts with him, 
but so that in this way Shylock's house should be left 
unguarded, open for a thief to enter and steal its treasure. 

This was the secret Toni Panocchi would have revealed 
at a price, but for his late master's violent reception of 
his hints and Jessica's crafty interposition. 

Thus the Jew had been tricked, deceived, robbed. 
He, the wise Jew, who had spent his life in tricking, 
robbing and deceiving others. 

No wonder the old man, raising his arms aloft, called 
upon Heaven to give him his vengeance. 

The Duke, appalled, watched the rigid figure in its 
rough gabardine, the yellow badge of shame upon its 
breast, the yellow turban fallen back from scanty locks, 
showing the bald peak of the head, the sagging flesh of 
the neck, only partly hidden by the patriarchal beard 
upon which great clots of foam lay in token of the old 
man's frenzied state. 

"Curse them!" moaned Shylock. "The curse of 
Israel upon these Gentile dogs! My ducats lost! My 
jewels — lost ! My daughter — lost ! ' ' 

"Nay," replied the Duke severely, "ducats and jewels 
can be replaced, Jew. For them you should not lament 
in the same fashion as for your daughter. It is for her 
we will give command this town should be searched, 
unless indeed we hear these naughty lovers have escaped 
beyond our reach." 



154 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

It was at this moment, and before either Shylock or 
Tubal could reply, that a young man in the rich dress 
of a merchant stepped forward, bowing to the Duke. 

"My name, Your Grace, is Angelo Salarino," said he 
with deep respect, "a merchant of Venice. As I and 
my friend Salanio returned earlier this evening from a 
comrade's house we saw Lorenzo Fortunato, who is well 
known to us both, hurrying towards the quays." 

"You saw him!" screamed Shylock. "You saw the 
villain? By Aaron's rod! Had I but been there! And 
the girl? You saw Jessica? You saw my daughter? 
Woe is me! — belike with the jewels on her, the ducats 
snugly hidden in the folds of her gown." 

"Nay," retorted Salarino amiably. "Lorenzo s com- 
panion wore no gown, but instead the hose and doublet 
of a boy. A very comely youth, as I remarked to Sal- 
anio. Black-eyed, black-haired, ruddy of complexion, 
with nose slightly aquiline and pouting, ruby lips. A 
comely youth, who in other guise would have made a 
comelier maid." 

"It was she!" shrieked the old Jew, wildly gesticula- 
ting. "It was Jessica — my daughter Jessica, wantoning 
in page's garb. But where did they go? What did they 
do? You shall tell me, fair sir, at once. Where are my 
jewels? My " 

"Of your jewels I know nothing," replied Salarino 
coldly, "but I would tell the Duke" — he bowed to the 
perplexed ruler — "that Lorenzo and his companion 
departed in a gondola — I think for Genoa, from stray 
words I caught as they hurried past." 

The Duke drew a sigh of some relief. 

He had done all that justice required, and might now 
return to the Palace and his rest with a satisfied con- 



A VAIN SEARCH 155 

science. Nor did Shylock's frenzied despair awake pity 
in him any more than in his train. There was something 
entirely sordid in the Jew's reiterated laments after his 
money and jewels, beside which the claims of natural 
affection appeared to sink into insignificance. 

So, after a few courteous words of thanks to Angelo 
Salarino for his information, which had saved the neces- 
sity for a useless search, the Duke returned to the Palace, 
coldly telling Shylock that should Lorenzo return to 
Venice justice should be done. 

An empty promise, which neither Shylock nor Tubal 
heeded. Here was the end of their hopes; at any rate 
for immediate restitution, and TubaPs swart features 
convulsed in anger as he thought of the wife he had 
lost and the golden dowry which should have been hers. 
They would have followed Salarino to question him more 
closely as to the hour he had seen the lovers embark, 
but the young man had been quick to slip away after 
giving his information, and not a sign of him could they 
see. 

But Shylock, plucking at his companion's loose sleeve, 
thrust his wrinkled face close to Tubal's gloomy one. 

"There is revenge," he muttered, "and there are those 
in Venice who helped Lorenzo in this plot. Come, Tubal, 
we'll learn the truth of this, and discover the best way 
to rack the meddlers in it; for which purpose I'll go to 
Bassanio Ramberti's — and in your company. What do 
you say, Aaron? Shall we forever cringe beneath the 
lash and go begging for justice? I vow by all the prophets 
that there are some in Venice still who shall smart for 
bringing shame upon my house." 

Tubal bowed his head gravely. 

"I will go with you," said he, "and afterwards take 
ship for Genoa in search of Jessica." 



156 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

The speaker's jaw set in rigid determination. He too 
longed for revenge — and he hated the man who had 
robbed him of a bride. 

Bassanio Ramberti did not prove so easily accessible 
as the Duke of Venice. Perhaps he may have guessed 
well enough what business these importunate Hebrews 
had with him, for though he was not yet abed and very 
wakeful, he refused Shylock's petition, and the latter 's 
resentment had time to grow to almost overmastering 
passion during the long hours before dawn deepened 
into day. Tubal was not talkative either as he sat in an 
upper room of Shylock's house beside his host, listening 
to the constantly reiterated tale of the old man's losses, 
his despair at his daughter's treachery, and his resolve 
to wreak vengeance not only upon her abductor but upon 
those whom he suspected of participating in the plot. 

"Bassanio Ramberti shall pay," Shylock snarled. 
"By the prophets! he shall pay! I'll strip him, beggar 
him, torture him. Aye, for I can torture him — through 
his friend." 

"You mean Antonio Cainello, the merchant?" 

Shylock writhed as though in physical pain. 

"The curse of Israel upon him!" he mouthed. "How 
I hate him! The cringing Christian, who lends without 
asking for repayment and lashes me with his tongue 
every time I appear on the Rial to. How I hear him laugh ! 
'What? The Jew robbed? An excellent jest to tickle 
ears withal! His daughter stolen? Why, the house 
of the Jew is honored.' But wait, Tubal, wait. If 
my prayers are heard I'll have revenge. How prosper 
those Christian argosies? I heard welcome news of one. 
Shipwrecked on the Goodwins, I am told. That's a fair 
beginning. May every contrary wind so blow on his 



A VAIN SEARCH 157 

enterprises! But let Antonio look to himself. Should 
he break his bond! We jested, Tubal — a merry jest. 
No interest would I take for my moneys — only — in jest, 
mark you — a pound of his fair flesh, to be cut off where 
I would. A pound of flesh. Of what value is that to 
any? I tell you none save as rich guerdon to revenge." 

Aaron Tubal rose. "The Duke would not permit the 
taking of such a bond," he replied. "But come, the 
sun rises high; let us steal away before these swine 
around awake from their sleep and look forth to taunt and 
gibe at us. If you would seek Bassanio — well! Seek 
him now, for I would fain be on my way to Genoa." 

"To Genoa," muttered Shylock. "Yes, good Aaron, 
follow to Genoa, threaten, rage, denounce that villain — 
and if you bring not Jessica again, do not fail to claim 
the ducats and jewels — two sealed bags of double ducats, 
Aaron. Oh! The vile wretches!" 

He was mouthing and cursing all the way to Bassanio's 
house, parting with his friend near the Via Suvano, 
since Tubal was too impatient to delay longer in his 
pursuit of the fugitives. Of his purpose when he had 
overtaken them the younger Jew said little — but there 
was a lurking passion in his dark eyes which boded no 
good for the gay young bridegroom Lorenzo when they 
two should meet. 

Bassanio Ramberti lay at ease upon a silken couch 
when Shylock was brought into his presence; a small 
table with chocolate served in priceless cups was set 
between himself and his companion, Antonio Cainello. 
| Bassanio was pale and heavy-eyed. Anxieties indeed 
oppressed the young noble, treading fast upon the heels 
of disappointment. In his impulsive enthusiasm he had 
pictured himself the husband of Portia di Nerlini, the 



158 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

happiest of men in the fulfilment of his love — and also 
the freest from care, since her great wealth would free 
him forever from the sordid and unaccustomed chains 
of poverty. 

Gratiano's unwelcome news of the lady's retreat to a 
convent came as a crushing blow, and already he had 
heard the news confirmed by a friend of Niccolo Gri- 
mani's, who averred that the latter had returned to 
Venice in a fury at being balked of his hopes. 

Had he dreamed of such an untoward happening as 
fair Portia's evasion of importunate suitors, Bassanio 
would certainly not have lavished his money on last 
night's feast; and he was explaining to Antonio his 
intention to live frugally in closest retirement for the 
present, and thus save money enough for his venture to 
Belmont at a later date, when Shylock was announced. 
The old man might have been a pitiable object with his 
disordered gabardine, torn bonnet and disheveled locks, 
had his features not been twisted in so fixed a hate as 
he looked from one to other of the young men, who, 
lounging in luxurious ease, regarded him with the calm 
contempt of those who gaze at some lower creation. 

"Well, Jew," quoth Bassanio — for Shylock's words 
failed him — "what do you seek? Ducats, jewels — 
or a daughter? I vow by the bones of St. Mark you'll 
find none of the three in the Palazzo Ramberti." 

And he yawned, fingering his long gold chain with one 
hand, whilst with the other he raised his cup of chocolate 
to his lips. 

Shylock stretched out claw-like fingers gropingly, 
with the gesture of a blind man. 

"It was the man Toni who brought your letter," he 
gasped. "He was my servant, illustrious sir, before he 






A VAIN SEARCH 159 

was yours. Let me speak with him that I may know 
whether that wanton, my daughter, had any previous 
dealing with Lorenzo?" 

"Nay, by the saints!" protested Bassanio, "you shall 
not call a fair lady ill names, old man. For myself, 
I look upon it as a state of grace that she should wish to 
become Christian and marry an honest lover." 

Shylock's face convulsed, but he had come with a 
purpose, so forbore to lash out in cursing and reviling. 

"As for Toni," went on Bassanio, "he shall come 
hither at your pleasure," and he clapped his hands, 
summoning his servant and dismissing him in search 
of the whilom messenger. Pending the latter's arrival, 
Bassanio and Antonio sipped their chocolate, talking 
together idly, apparently heedless of the shrunken 
figure in its tumbled garments which stood in sinister 
outline against a curtain of crimson velvet. 

But Shylock, watching his enemies from beneath 
furtive brows, felt his lust for vengeance burn like a 
devouring flame in his heart. Bassanio Ramberti he 
contemned — it was Antonio the merchant whom he 
hated with all the ungovernable passion of his nature; 
such a hatred which, in such a man, would dog a foe 
untiringly through a lifetime in the hope of striking 
him down at last. And whilst he fumed and raged, 
waiting there in the splendid apartment of a bankrupt, 
its owner was jesting merrily over the impotence of the 
magistrates to curtail the reckless extravagance of the 
women of Venice in their dress — a matter which had 
been perplexing the Senate for the last eighty years, 
having now reached a culminating point, since, in 
defiance of the law, fine ladies would prank themselves 
in silks and broideries, silver and gold tissues, velvets 



160 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

wrought with finest needlework, so that a considerable 
fortune might be lavished on one gown. 

The door opened and Toni, shifty-eyed as ever, 
entered. He bowed humbly to his new master, ignored 
the old and demanded to know what the illustrious 
Signior wished with him. 

"Why, nothing but your service, good Toni," laughed 
Bassanio. "However, Master Jew Shylock here would 
learn whether pretty Jessica his daughter had long 
acquaintance with the Signior Lorenzo. " 

Toni's black eyes twinkled as he turned to the old man 
with an air of patronage and defiance. 

"Why, for that matter," quoth he, "my mistress 
would listen to a serenade with as much pleasure as 
any maid in Venice; and, since a man must live on 
something better than the refuse of a Jew's larder, I was 
ready to take the lady's letters to her lover at the price 
of a ducat." 

Shylock gnashed his teeth. 

The impudence of this man, who had been his obe- 
dient servant for years, galled him to a fury. 

"You took letters, villain," he squealed, "to this 
Christian, and the woman paid you with my ducats? 
Oh! What wickedness is this! What punishment you 
deserve for such sin, ingratitude, vileness!" 

"Why, as for ingratitude," grinned Toni, "I think 
Jessica will thank me for the virtuous aid I gave in help- 
ing her to a Christian husband. You'll live to be con- 
verted yet, worship, and will reward poor Toni as he 
deserves." 

He bowed as he spoke, slipping away before Shylock 
in his rage could hurl himself upon him, as the old man 
seemed likely to do, so great was his frenzy. 



A VAIN SEARCH 161 

"Thus, Shylock," quoth Bassanio, in more concil- 
iatory tones, "you see that your daughter has but 
followed the way of her heart and that Lorenzo only 
stole what was his already. Therefore cease to bemoan, 
but thank Heaven for your child's happiness." 

Had the speaker held torch to tow the blaze could 
not have been more instant. 

Shylock's anger was white-hot now. His enemies 
were these two who sat calm and unmoved before him, 
though it was Antonio Cainello, who idly played with 
his gilt pomander, against whom his more bitter hatred 
was kindled. 

The lofty disdain of the young merchant's dark 
eyes, his air of proud superiority galled the old Jew to 
madness. 

"So, Bassanio Ramberti," he mouthed, speaking to 
Bassanio, with his eyes on Antonio, "I discover the 
truth of this plot. You knew of Lorenzo's passion 
for my daughter — his greedy lust for my wealth. There- 
fore you bade me to the feast furnished by my ducats, 
for the purpose of making Lorenzo's theft possible, 
whilst you welcomed me as your guest. You knew my 
house was being entered and despoiled of its treasure. 
And this is reward for my kindness! This my reward 
for granting Antonio here moneys without interest so 
that you might both plot for my ruin! O Christian 
virtue! O generous youth! Will the Jew take ven- 
geance, think you? Or will he lie in the dust, groveling 
for you to spurn him again? Another kick, illustrious 
one — do not spare your spitting. A Jew! Well, well. 
I know the tale now — I shall read it again presently. 
Think of that, Antonio. I shall not forget this pretty 
tale, which I do not doubt your brain conceived. O 

11 



162 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

my masters! Justice — and the Jew — justice — and the 
Jew. I think this time he'll be served if there be justice 
in heaven. " 

Antonio Cainello looked thoughtfully after the old 
man's retreating figure, a moment grave, the next smil- 
ing. Why or wherefore should he fear the idle railings 
of a crazed miser? Long before his own debt to Shy- 
lock the Jew had to be paid his argosies would be 
returning safe to port. It was true the cruel Goodwins 
had sucked much profit into their voracious depths — 
but his returns were many — his wealth assured. 

Lightly he tapped Bassanio's shoulder. 

"The sun shines," said he; "let us go to the Piazza, 
— and forget the vile Jew, whose greed is well repaid. 
For myself I am glad pretty Jessica is freed from such a 
father." 

And Bassanio, rousing from a melancholy which 
present disappointment rendered an easy humor, took 
his friend's arm and sallied out into the sunshine, 






CHAPTER XVIII 

A TALE OVERHEARD 

LONG weeks, dragging out halting length, passed 
slowly by. 
Portia di Nerlini still kept her convent cell, 
and Nerissa, often yawning over her beads, kept her 
company, whilst many would-be suitors made fruitless 
pilgrimage to the palazzo amongst the pine woods. 

To Bassanio Ramberti, sick with hope deferred, it 
seemed that he was destined never to see his fair lady 
again, and in these days he did not cease to reproach 
himself for the delay of those summer months, when a 
hundred gayeties and diversions weaned his thoughts 
from the vision of sweet Portia's charms. 

He was in truth out-at-elbows with the world as he 
lounged along the Piazza San Marco, where a flock of 
pigeons circled iris-hued about the gilded dome, and 
sunlight fell in golden splendor upon the marble pave- 
ment. 

A fair lady clattered by on her high clogs, or chop- 
pines as they were called, having need to take the arm 
of an attendant cavalier to assist her, whilst two cavalieri 
walked close behind, one carrying her fan, another her 
cloak, though from time to time one or other would 
approach the veiled beauty to address some jest in a 
whisper to her. 

Soft peals of laughter, the ripple of a lute's strings, 
the splashing of water as the gilded gondolas glided by, 

(163) 



164 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

the shrill cries of the fruit and flower vendors, all 
merged into one great harmony, rising and falling on the 
sunlit air, though there was a chill in the atmosphere 
now which made it necessary to draw cloaks closely, 
and be glad that the laws of a grave college permitted 
the doublets of the nobili to be lined with squirrel fur in 
winter. 

The wife of a wealthy citizen, her face covered by a 
black veil, stood bargaining for fruit with a shrewd 
Neapolitan seller — her voice rose in crescendo notes as 
Bassanio passed her by, and the jarring sound made the 
young man quicken his steps till he paused close to the 
opening of the Merceria, from which two or three 
narrower streets and canals branched off from the main 
way leading to the Rialto. 

As he halted, debating whether he should go in search 
of his friend Antonio, who no doubt would be on the 
Rialto inquiring if there were any news of his mer- 
chandise, two men stepped forth from a doorway close 
by, even brushing past him as they walked up the 
narrower street, which led to the lower quarters of the 
town. 

They wore, one a doublet of green, the other of crim- 
son, with parti-colored hose and short velvet cloaks. 
Evidently they were not of the nobili — yet Bassanio 
fancied the face of the shorter and stouter man was 
familiar to him. 

Ah, yes! — he recalled seeing it now at the palazzo of 
Niccolo Grimani. The fellow had diced with him on 
more than one occasion — though Bassanio did not claim 
either acquaintance or friendship with the man whom he 
had instinctively disliked. But he remembered his 
name — one Angelo Sutari, whose reputation was far less 
angelic than his name. 



A TALE OVERHEARD 165 

As they passed, evidently not paying heed to him, 
Bassanio's attention was pricked by sound of a name — 
Portia di Nerlini. 

The very mention of that lady was enough to thrill 
his heart and quicken his ears. 

What had such men to do with the Lady Portia? 
Always impulsive, Bassanio determined to answer that 
question for himself, and instantly set about following 
the men at a discreet distance down the street. They 
were evidently in high good spirits, laughing and chat- 
ting, snapping their fingers, whilst every now and again 
Angelo would troll forth a snatch of some love ditty. 

It struck Bassanio that they had been drinking quite 
sufficient to rob them of complete discretion, so, since 
at this distance it was impossible to hear the drift of 
their conversation, he approached nearer. 

"Come, amico," cried the merry Angelo, taking his 
comrade by the armband thus, in his lurching, saving 
himself from slipping into the canal, "we must discuss 
this matter privately; for if so much as a whisper of it 
came abroad we should incur the vengeance of our 
gloomy Niccolo, who has been thinking of nothing since 
his return from Belmont, but the winning of the lady 
and her fortune." 

A small wine shop stood near, a woman in the door- 
way, bold-eyed, handsome, with fat arms akimbo. 
Monna Elena was reckoned a great beauty in Venice, 
where the fashion prevailed of admiration for big, 
plump women, and her good looks had brought fame to 
the "Creeping Vine," where evidently Angelo Sutari 
was no stranger. 

Bassanio, however, was not favored with so ready 
a welcome, and the young noble found diplomacy run 



166 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

rather against the grain since it embraced the necessity 
for stealing a kiss from the heavily-coy Monna Elena, 
and vowing that he was so completely dazzled by her 
charms that he needed a flask of her best wine instantly. 

Here was likely to be a good customer as well as a 
handsome one. Though Messer Angelo was free with 
his kisses, his ducats were few, certainly not extending 
to the purchase of the best wine! So Monna Elena 
beamed good-humoredly upon the noble cavalier who so 
much admired her, and invited him to climb the stair to 
the open roof, where creeping vines and gay flowers 
provided the inn with the right to its name and cus- 
tomers with a pleasant resting place after a busy day's 
work. 

Bassanio was not slow in complying with this invita- 
tion, and seated himself before a tiny table in a corner, 
before glancing round in discovery of the men whose 
conversation had begun to interest him so very greatly. 

From behind a screen of vine leaves he spied a pair of 
legs clad in parti-colored hose protruding, whilst before 
the bower stood a slim edition of Monna Elena — a 
black-eyed, saucy little maid who, having brought the 
illustrious Signiors their wine, stayed to jest with them, 
till a movement on the part of one of them which 
threatened the stealing of a kiss, sent her away laugh- 
ing, since was she not betrothed to handsome Nane the 
fisherman, for whom alone the sweetness of her lips was 
reserved? Evidently the gay cavalier did not know 
that there was anyone else on the roof — for Sutari, 
leaning forward with hasty scanning, had failed to per- 
ceive the figure in black doublet and hose seated well 
back in the corner, behind flowering shrubs set in large 
pots. 



A TALE OVERHEARD 167 

"Now this is much better/' Bassanio heard Sutari 
say. "We can here talk as freely as we choose, my 
little Giacope, without fear of eavesdroppers — or the 
anger of Niccolo. Ohime, what a man that is! He is 
in love, Giacope mio — in love with a lady's fortune — 
and I am told it is a very pretty one." 

"Basta!" retorted the other. "But if you are talking 
of di Nerlini's daughter, I thought it was ordained by 
her old fool of a father that only he who chose a certain 
casket should win her. And our Grimani was not suc- 
cessful there." 

"No," laughed Sutari, helping himself to wine with 
much clinking of glass, which betrayed an unsteady 
hand, "he failed there. But what matter? Grimani is 
in love, Giacope — and what lover ever stopped short at 
a first failure?" 

His companion swore profanely. "All the same," 
he replied, "this failure is final, if gossip says truly; 
for those who essay the choice of casket have to vow 
to leave their suit forever if they choose amiss." 

"Would it be the first vow which a lover has broken?" 
questioned Sutari, with the melodramatic fervor of a 
man who has been drinking freely. "I wager you when 
the lady is Niccolo 's bride she will only read loss of faith 
as ecstasy of love." 

"But will she consent to be his bride?" argued the 
sceptical Giacope. "I heard on good authority that 
the Lady Portia had retired to a convent to escape from 
such importunate lovers as our friend Niccolo." 

"Per Bacco!" chuckled Sutari, again helping himself 
to wine. "That is just the kernel of the nut we are to 
help crack. Here is a lover in despair at his mistress' 
coldness. She is very cold — Giacope — but the fortune 



168 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

is a splendid one. As for our despairing lover, he is 
driven to madness — and also to debt, as we very well 
know. There is only one who can cure his madness and 
satisfy his creditors — the Lady Portia. You will admit, 
Giacope, that the need is desperate." 

"Will the lady so regard it?" 

"Diavolo! That is Niccolo's business. He hath a 
persuasive tongue with the women, amico — and he will 
need all the persuasion of his wit if he is to have a 
peaceful life." 

"Come, you speak in riddles," growled Giacope 
irritably. "Cease your bibbing, Angelo, and tell me the 
story plainly. I understand Grimani is anxious to buy 
our services in some enterprise concerning the Lady 
Portia di Nerlini." 

"Precisely," hiccoughed Sutari. "I was explaining; 
but be not impatient. There are ducats coming to 
line our pouches, amico, and I am ready to admit 
frankly that though I would do much for friendship, I 
would do more for ducats. Now Niccolo Grimani is my 
friend — he also has ducats to offer — for friendship. We 
will go with him on Friday, Giacope, even though it is a 
bad day for luck. What say you? We'll be ready to 
serve a friend at a good price, especially when every- 
thing is on the side of reward with no attendant risk." 

He hummed the snatch of a song, and Bassanio 
craned forward; the latter would not for the world have 
lost a word of this momentous conversation, to the 
hearing of which he devoutly reflected that the saints 
themselves must have guided him. 

Be that as it may, certainly neither of Niccolo 
Grimani's hirelings suspected that a third was partic- 
ipant in that pleasant tete-a-tete on the roof of the 
"Climbing Vine." 



A TALE OVERHEARD 169 

"I'm with you if there are ducats in the business," 
quoth Sutari's comrade, with an oath. "Tell me more of 
this profitable adventure, my Angelo?" 

Sutari yawned. Presently the wine would be making 
him sleepy, but he was communciative for the present 
and answered this time more definitely. 

"On Friday," said he, "our love-sick, ducat-seeking 
Niccolo will be setting sail for Belmont, since a servant 
he has contrived to bribe into his confidence has sent to 
tell him that preparations are being made at the palazzo 
for the return of their lady on that day. It seems she 
has had enough of praying and fasting, so would try a 
change of feasting and love-testing again. By our 
Lady! she should be content. What a bridal that will 
be, Gia mio. What a wooing too! There will be the 
three of us, and, whilst Niccolo is persuading the lady 
of his passion, we shall deal with the escort. Two lusty 
knaves as I understand, who cannot be bribed and 
therefore must be content with a pricking. You and I 
will be there to wait on them. Afterwards we shall 
ride to a certain castello amongst the hills, where there 
will be a priest waiting to bless our Niccolo's enterprise 
and persuade the lady that she cannot do better for the 
sake of her own fair name than bestow the reward of 
herself and her fortune on so bold and ardent a lover. 
After that all will be feasting, love-making and renown 
for the noble Grimani and his adorable lady, who, if 
she love romance as every maid should do, will not like 
her husband any the less for his oath-breaking and 
masterfulness." 

And again Sutari broke into song. 

Bassanio set down an empty glass and felt the chill 
of winter smite him, for all the sunshine's warmth. 



170 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

What devil's work was this? He would never have 
believed it of a noble of Venice, though he knew some- 
thing of Grimani's loose notions of honor, and the reck- 
less mode of his living. Yet he would not have credited 
this shame of one whose hand he himself had clasped 
in way of friendship, had he not heard of it with his own 
ears. Yet with his horror came also a sense of triumph 
and elation. 

This had been no chance meeting, but the oppor- 
tunity sent to him by Heaven itself to frustrate the 
purpose of villains in wronging a noble lady. 

A fire of enthusiasm flamed with indignation, so that 
Bassanio could have laughed aloud, knowing himself 
the champion going forth to battle in a cause which, 
perchance, bright- winged Love himself might crown. 

How strange it was that he should be the one to inter- 
pose a second time in defence of Portia di Nerlini ! Yet, 
as his lips set in grim determination, he knew this would 
be something very different to the scaring of a few 
weak-stomached bandits, whose purpose was limited to 
the theft of a trinket or a purse of ducats. 

To begin with, it was necessary for his purpose that 
the men babbling under the vines close by should not 
know of his presence; and since there was risk now in 
every moment's delay, he rose cautiously, creeping 
towards the staircase with the stealthy tread of some 
prowling cat, halting now and again to listen to Sutari's 
droning gabble of what revelries he should indulge in 
when Grimani's golden ducats lined his pouch. 

Step by step Bassanio neared his goal, breathing 
more freely as the space narrowed between himself and 
safety. Then, with a gasp, he stopped short, seeing the 
way barred by Monna Elena's bulky form. 



A TALE OVERHEARD 171 

It was a moment of suspense, in which Bassanio 
almost lost his presence of mind, since it was evident the 
woman was about to address him with some demand as 
to his needs. Her mouth indeed was already open for 
her speech when Bassanio, recovering himself, laid his 
finger on his lips, springing at one nimble bound to her 
side, when he began to draw her back down the narrow 
staircase. 

" Mother of Heaven!" panted Monna Elena, arriving 
more precipitately than her wont at the foot of the 
steps. "What jest is this, Clarissimo?" 

She gave Bassanio the title coined by the proudest 
nobles of Venice as peculiarly their rightful and sole 
title. 

Bassanio urged her still further into the shop. 

"Hist!" he whispered, in a tragic voice. "Those men 
up there are my enemies, Monna." 

She clucked her tongue knowingly. 

"Diavolo!" she murmured. "It is true that Angelo is 
a rascal of a fellow, though he pays many compli- 
ments." 

"The most villainous of mankind could not fail to pay 
his homage to such beauty as yours, Monna," vowed 
Bassanio, very positively. "Since he has eyes in his 
head he could not help telling you of your charms, 
which is a tale of simple truth and no compliment. 
But, on the other hand, this Angelo Sutari is the agent — 
or shall we say tool? — of a certain noble Signior, whose 
daughter I chanced to admire too boldly. It was but 
the case of a raised veil and a tribute to fair beauty such 
as any cavalier would have paid; but you know the way 
of us nobles of Venice, bella donna, and so there is a 
vendetta which I find exceedingly troublesome. This is 



172 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

why I do not wish to let those Signiors upstairs know 
I have been here." 

Monna Elena was still smiling over the pleasant 
manner of the new customer's speech, which he more- 
over gilded with an extra ducat, entirely winning her 
favor. 

"I understand," she declared, setting her fat arms 
akimbo and nodding again and again. "And neither of 
those who drink together up there shall know that so 
much as a mouse has kept them company. As for that 
pert Ginevra, I will promise her such a thrashing if she 
breathes a word of it as shall keep her mute as a dead 
herring. Farewell, Clarissimo — you will remember the 
way to the 'Creeping Vine/ and be sure no enemies 
shall know of your coming hither!" 

Bassanio assured the full-blown beauty that it would 
be impossible for him ever to forget the dwelling place 
of so much virture and loveliness, and thereupon took 
his departure, in too great haste, this time, to steal the 
kiss which Monna Elena was waiting to bestow on him. 
The woman came to the door, watching his retreating 
figure with lowered lids over heavy, slumbrous eyes. 

"He is a very handsome cavalier," she commented, 
"and bestows ducats like a prince. I wonder who he 
is? — But that I shall soon discover since he is sure to 
come again. Ohime! I had better go and find that 
little cat Ginevra and remind her that a thrashing fol- 
lows hard on a babbling tongue." 

And away waddled Monna Elena, to find to her wrath 
that the wicked Ginevra was taking advantage of her 
mother's preoccupation to exchange love whispers on 
her own account with handsome Nane, who stood up 
in his boat, so that he could just comfortably encircle 
the waist of the girl perched on the wall near. 



A TALE OVERHEARD 173 

It was really a pity that so pretty an idyll should 
be spoiled — but Monna Elena was a hasty-tempered 
woman when her will was crossed, so pretty Ginevra 
got her beating after all — and Nane had decamped 
in such haste from fear of his future mother-in-law's 
anger that his poor little sweatheart had to bear all the 
punishment for the stolen half -hour of bliss, with no one 
to comfort her. It was very hard indeed — but from 
Ginevra's unhappiness one good consequence resulted. 
Neither she nor Monna Elena thought again of the 
handsome new customer who ordered the best wine and 
paid its price three times over in golden ducats and 
kisses. 



s 



CHAPTER XIX 

THE AMBUSH 

l^^lO you and Gratiano sail for Belmont to-night?" 
asked Antonio. "Why, that is only right, 
amico, and yet my mind misgives me since you 
are only two and we know not how many bravos Grimani 
has hired to his service in the pursuance of this foul 
scheme." 

Bassanio flushed. He did not grow less impulsive 
with love afire in his veins, and the tale he had told his 
friend was as impetuous as himself. 

"Why, as to that," he retorted, "this Sutari named 
three as their number, since the Lady Portia deems two 
servants escort enough, seeing the short distance from 
convent to palazzo and the rigor that the banditti have 
been dealt with of late months." 

"The lady is ill advised," replied Antonio. "Would 
it not be better to warn her of her danger ere she starts 
on so perilous a journey, my Bassanio? Should ill 
chance befall your plans I should grieve to dwell on her 
fate." 

It was the counsel of common sense, not inflamed by 
romance or the desire to render signal service to a fair 
lady in her distress. 

"For that matter," replied Bassanio, "we shall out- 
number these villains by one, so we will not reckon with 
mishap. Nor will I carry a tale to a lady's ears which 
smacks of the senseless babble of the wine shop. Unless 

(174) 



THE AMBUSH 175 

proven, could I swear away the honor of a noble of 
Venice with no other reason than what seems but the idle 
chatter of two sots?" 

"Yet you attach such weight to this same chatter 
that you sail for Belmont to-night to He in wait for 
rogues, who, being no rogues, will not be there?" 

Bassanio gave an impatient laugh. 

"Argue on, O rare philosopher," said he. "Cold 
argument and I can never be attune — though I love the 
arguer. But can a lover stand to weigh most carefully 
each reason and event, whilst his lady may be in peril of 
her life? A lover, poor Antonio, will not say, ' this tale, 
not being proven, is no certainty, so I will wait at ease 
lest I have to laugh at myself for a hot-headed fool'; 
but rather will cry, ' I cannot endure to waste a moment 
for fear of what this whisper breeds. My lady may be 
safe — yet will I be at hand lest the shadow of some danger 
cross her path.' " 

Antonio slowly stroked his beard, keeping his eyes 
veiled. 

"I'll say no more, Bassanio," he said, "for I see you 
love this lady very truly, since even a cold philosopher 
may read such passion aright though he has never felt 
it consume him. So you and Gratiano will sail for Bel- 
mont, and may fair winds, good hopes and a successful 
suit speed you to happiness." 

The young noble grasped his friend's hand in an affec- 
tionate clasp, unwonted tears standing in his eyes. "I 
must go," he replied. "I think I shall be happy, since 
love sings blithely in my heart. Yet my joy will not be 
complete till I return and listen to your welcome. Tell 
me, Antonio — for at times my heart misgives me that 
your friendship costs too dear — have your argosies 



176 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

arrived yet in port? I own I shall be glad to hear your 
debt to the Jew is paid." 

A faint shadow crossed the merchant's brow, though 
he smiled. 

"Each or any day may I expect to hear of their arrival," 
he answered. "And it is possible that they are long 
delayed. Do not hasten your return on my account, 
Bassanio. Long before you have wooed and won your 
Portia I shall be as much out of the Jew's debt as he is 
out of my mind. For the rest, take heed, and employ 
both wit and caution in dealing with Niccolo Grimani, 
since the latter proves himself a rival of the baser sort, 
who would win by a shameful trick what fate has denied 
him." 

The entrance of Gratiano — something after the blus- 
tering of an easterly gale — checked further confidences, 
and brought the smile in good earnest to Antonio's grave 
lips. 

Poor Gratiano! His indignation was of a very trucu- 
lent sort; boding ill for his enemies when he should meet 
them. Yet his excitement had a tinge of pleasant antici- 
pation in it no less than Bassanio's, since in thwarting 
knaves they were likely to win favor in the eyes of their 
respective mistresses. 

"Come," he urged Bassanio, "our ship awaits us, 
and I am told that Grimani has hired his craft for sailing 
in two hours. He who sups with the devil hath need of 
a long spoon. We'll not delay." 

It was strange that a sudden loathness seized Bassanio 
as he wrung Antonio's hand. 

"Would you were coming with us, amico," said he, 
"for I am reluctant to be parted even for a time from 
one in whose debt I lie so deeply." 



THE AMBUSH 177 

"Nay," replied Antonio very earnestly, "there is no 
debt between us, Bassanio, save that of love. I shall be 
glad to hear of your happiness, which must be complete 
before you return to Venice." 

"Or forever marred," sighed Bassanio, misgiving 
weighing on him for the first time. "But I do not dare 
to linger, though it takes all my courage to go, leaving 
one so dear. Still, Fate must decide for me before three 
weeks have passed, and there is that time wanting till the 
payment of the moneys." 

With which self-encouragement he and Gratiano set 
forth for the quay, leaving Antonio to sit in the twilight 
of his solitary room, a smile on his lips, but a great weari- 
ness in his dark eyes, since for him life had but one 
beauty, one sunshine, amidst gray gloom — his friendship 
with Bassanio Ramberti. 

Perhaps it was but in nature that the latter should 
look forward rather than back, forgetting for the time 
dear friendship in dear love. 

Portia was in danger. For the second time she claimed 
him. But this time the claim was stronger, the danger 
more pressing, the reward — the reward — Bassanio must 
stop here, uncertain, diffident, leaving Gratiano to go 
forward alone along love's pathway. 

Little Nerissa, having but herself to give, might be the 
lesser prize, but at any rate she was the more easily 
attained, so that Gratiano might dream on of reward, 
not bound down nor limited by difficult ordeal. 

Still, it was not of the peril of the casket's fateful 
decree of which Bassanio thought as he and his compan- 
ion lurked behind those trees through whose dark shade 
they could see the blue of a velvet doublet worn by some 
other watcher. 

12 



178 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

It had been a difficult task to get upon the track of 
Grimani and his accomplices, and more than once 
Bassanio had regretted not taking Antonio's advice and 
either warning the lady herself of her peril or telling 
Florio to set guards in the woods to protect his mistress. 

But the mistake — if it were a mistake — had been made, 
and the young man was at pains to argue with himself 
that so wild a tale would scarcely have received credence 
either from the lady or her steward, since he accused a 
noble of Venice. 

That Portia had already had proof of Grimani's 
importunities and lack of faith, Bassanio did not know. 
So he and Gratiano stood there, behind a thick screening 
of myrtles, ready to spring to a rescue at the first warning 
of danger. An hour dragged by, an hour when every 
breath was a peril and limbs grew racked by cramping 
pains as the two men stood rigid in their hiding. 

From time to time they heard brief whispering amongst 
the men nearer the path, and once or twice one or other 
of them moved, stretching stiffened limbs and uttering 
imprecations on the tardiness of their prey in coming to 
a trapping. 

Bassanio felt his pulses drum in fierce anger as he heard 
the words and marked the certainty of the villains in the 
accomplishing of an easy task. 

Gratiano too gripped his dagger closely as he recalled 
the sweetness of a kiss. 

Per Bacco! He would teach scoundrels a lesson 
which they might con over in purgatory, if they dare 
lay hands on his Nerissa! 

The myrtles rustled in the wind. It was cold waiting 
here, and the woods were gray, sunless, ill-omened 
to-day. Mercurial spirits are easily damped by outward 






THE AMBUSH 179 

impressions and the young men were both growing 
more anxious than they cared to admit. 

What risks had they chosen to expose their mistresses 
to in pursuance of their own self-glorification? 

More than once was Bassanio tempted to leap out, 
challenge Niccolo Grimani to combat, and end the 
threatened encounter before the coming of Portia di 
Nerlini. 

Yet he held back, since in such a case how would 
it be proven which of them had been waiting here as 
traitor or champion? 

Clear and sweet-chimed, the tones of the convent bell 
drifted towards them down the hillside; each vibrant 
clang seeming a summons to prayer: prayer for the 
living, prayer for the dead, prayer for saints, prayer 
for sinners, importunate clamor of prayer stealing up 
towards the blue arch of the heavens. 

Was it a summons to those already gone forth from 
sheltering walls to return to the deeper peace and safety 
of convent shade? Ah! Bassanio would not have a 
maid's sweet ears making such interpretation of the 
sound. Yet why was it she had been deaf to the call 
which might so easily have appealed to one girt about 
with threatening dangers and difficulties? What 
temptation was drawing Portia di Nerlini back to the 
world she had for so short a time forsaken? 

Bassanio's pulses stirred. Did she know Love was 
waiting here — Love, strong- winged and ardent-souled, 
with golden lights in his eagle eyes and passion in his 
breath? Had some wandering nymph, stealing through 
the barred casement of a convent cell, whispered that 
sweet tale of Bassanio's devotion to one who knelt in 
pious prayer before the emblem of a far greater and divine 
love? 



180 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Clearly, sweetly, sounded the chimes, but to a lover's 
ears came another and nearer warning for his attention. 

Footsteps on the pathway, voices talking together, 
a girl's laugh — Nerissa's glad rejoicing at her freedom, 
as she told her mistress it would be good to be home once 
more. 

Then a rustling amongst the trees, a sharp exclamation 
in a man's tone, a shrill scream and a reassuring laugh. 
It was Niccolo Grimani who spoke — gayly, banteringly, 
with passion which was more mockery than devotion. 

"Nay, nay," he cried, "command your servants to 
put up their weapons, lady, lest they suffer hurt. I do 
assure you that these blades are but the device of love 
to win its way. I love you, sweet Portia, and neither 
foolish oaths nor convent walls shall rob me of you. 
Come, smile, lady, since never yet have I heard of the 
woman who frowns on love?" 

There was more anger than fear in the clear tones of 
Portia di Nerlini's reply. 

"You sully a white name by your dishonoring speech, 
Signior," she replied. "How dare you speak of love, 
who have never learned the meaning of the word? 
I would not think worse but better of you if you stood 
there and said, 'Lady of Belmont, I do desire your 
wealth, and have no balking sense of shame or honor 
to keep me from oath-breaking or trickery on a defence- 
less woman.' But in that last you would be wrong too, 
for I am neither defenceless nor afraid. These two ser- 
vants are not nobly born, yet by their noble defence of 
their mistress they'll show you how courage and loyalty 
are spelled, since I deem you backward in such learning. 
Stephano ! Balthazar ! I bid you clear my path ; unless, 
Signior, you may choose to gather together such poor 



THE AMBUSH 181 

rags of honor as you still possess about you and leave 
one who despises you for your unworthy conduct." 

So high was the lady's contempt that instead of sham- 
ing its listener, it goaded him to madness. 

Swearing to himself that he would make the proud 
jade repent such scathing words, Grimani sprang for- 
ward with drawn sword upon Balthazar, with so unex- 
pected a movement that he had run the poor fellow 
through his right wrist before he had time to strike one 
blow in his lady's defence. 

Grimani's companions too were speedily engaged with 
Stephano, being at more pains to disarm than to kill 
him, since Grimani was aware that a bloodless encounter 
would benefit him in the future. Nerissa was screaming 
wildly by now, seeing Angelo Sutari before her, his dark 
face all a-grin with malice, whilst even Portia, with her 
back to a tall pine tree, was wondering what she must 
do to save herself in this dilemma, when two men, spring- 
ing out from amongst the undergrowth changed the 
aspect of that brief fight. 

Stephano had managed to wound the paid ruffian 
Giacope, though he himself was lying senseless beside his 
adversary, and Nerissa ceased to scream, but clasped 
small, trembling hands in prayer as she spied the cham- 
pion who was thrusting with practised blade at the 
hulking figure of Sutari. 

But Portia closed her eyes, swaying like some tall 
lily in the summer breeze as she saw on the path before 
her the man for whose coming to Belmont she had prayed 
— as she had prayed too for the rest of an honored father's 
soul. 

Yes, he had come! the man who had stood with 
her in the moonlight and looked her heart away in the 



182 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

first glance from those keen yet merry eyes. But he was 
not looking at her. With back turned he stood there 
on the path, a slender figure in black hose and doublet, 
the silver girdle gleaming around his waist. 

A champion come to save her a second time in this 
far greater peril, yet by odd trickery of fate almost 
in the same spot where she had first seen him. 

Niccolo Grimani, within sight of swift success — 
cursed long and deeply, as sword to sword the two men 
stood — nobles of Venice both, splendid in their youth 
and strength, but with hate lurking on each face. 

"So," cried Niccolo softly, "I must prove my right to 
this lady by the removal of so greedy and importunate 
a suitor. I do not think, Clarissimo, that a di Nerlini's 
wealth will save you from the Jews." 

But Bassanio did not answer; he only waited there on 
the path, his sword drawn in defence of the fair lady 
who stood with closed eyes and swelling heart under 
shadow of the trees. 

To and fro leaped those two sable-clad figures. To 
and fro under the pine trees, with stealing sunlight 
to show the glitter of a jewel on hand and collar or display 
the tense whiteness of the grim-set faces. 

Portia di Nerlini was watching now — but she did not 
pray as Nerissa did — she had no mind for prayer, or hope, 
or love; only her eyes were fixed on the bending, swaying 
figures, which stooped and leaped, smote and defended, 
there on the narrow pathway. 

Once she bit her lip till the blood dyed her chin, for 
she had seen Grimani 's sword point buried for a moment 
in Ramberti's shoulder. The blade was red when he 
drew it forth and yet her champion made no sign, but 



THE- AMBUSH 183 

fought with still fiercer energy as one who knew his time 
was short. But Nerissa was crying now with laughter 
and tears co-mingled, for it had dawned upon her why 
Balthazar, at sight of those two new defenders, had gone 
in hasty flight through the trees, too maimed for further 
fighting, but swift of foot to play the courier. And now 
he was returning — that wise Balthazar, though not alone. 
From the direction of the palazzo, shouts and cries rang 
long and loud through the woods. 

The Lady of Belmont's retainers were not slow in com- 
ing to the aid of a beloved mistress, and Niccolo, hearing 
the clamor of fast-approaching men, guessed what had 
chanced, and cursed aloud since he had already begun 
to number the moments before he could count victory 
assured. 

Bassanio still fought, parrying every subtle thrust, 
but for all his efforts it was plain that loss of blood would 
soon rob him of consciousness and place him in his 
enemy's power. 

Indeed, ere now, Grimani might have succeeded in 
beating down his adversary's guard and slaying him by 
fierce attack, but the wily Venetian was not so crazed by 
anger as to lose sight altogether of the rashness of such 
an act. 

Reckless and improvident as Bassanio Ramberti had 
shown himself in the squandering of his fortune, he had 
won many friends in Venice — and amongst these was 
Duke Niccolo da Ponte himself, who would requite the 
slaying of a favored noble by the sentence of perpetual 
exile from the city. This, Grimani would not risk, 
having been confident that a few minutes would place 
this tiresome meddler at his mercy. 

So there was an added sting to this second failure 



184 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

which might have been fashioned to success had he been 
more prompt. 

As it was, however, caution warned the winner of 
that duel that his only safety from ignominious capture 
was in flight. 

Angelo Sutari was already making his escape, with 
Gratiano at his heels, the lust of fighting in the pursuer's 
soul. 

Bassanio staggered, swayed, his sword slipping from 
between nerveless fingers, then, as Grimani, also dropping 
his sword, sprang forward, Portia di Nerlini sank on one 
knee, her arms outstretched, thus breaking the fall of the 
man who had gotten grievous hurt in her defence and who 
now lay deep sunk in unconsciousness, his head pillowed 
on his lady's lap. 

Nearer came the shouts of Florio and his men, the voice 
of Balthazar rising shrill in crescendo fear. 

"This way, comrades — to the left of the cypress grove. 
Our Lady grant that we are in time!" 

"In time!" 

Portia looked up, and did not realize till later how 
Bassanio, unconscious, saved her yet again. For 
Niccolo's purpose had been to catch her in his arms and 
so make a reckless dash into the heart of the woods, 
trusting to the dense undergrowth of the shrubs to hide 
him from pursuit, and then essay to reach the spot not 
far distant where horses were tethered. But Portia, 
half kneeling, half seated on the ground, with the weight 
of her lover in her arms, could not be so easily raised and 
carried away. Nay! Even as Grimani stood glowering 
over her, irresolute as to how he should best accomplish 
his purpose, the foremost of the Nerlini retainers burst 
through the bushes and came running towards the spot. 



THE AMBUSH 185 

Grimani swore aloud and, not daring to wait longer, 
followed Angelo Sutari in headlong flight to where their 
horses awaited them for a very differently planned 
journey. 

The man — one Giacomo — did not attempt to follow 
the fleeing noble, but stood with mouth agape beside his 
mistress, staring in wide-eyed horror on the scene around. 

Giacope still lay senseless, but Stephano, recovering 
had raised himself on one elbow, a sorry figure, with torn 
jerkin, and blood trickling in a slow ooze down his pale 
face. 

Balthazar too, having spent his last strength on that 
well-conceived race, had slid prone onto a mossy bank, 
whilst a comrade, following hard after Giacomo, kneeled 
to bind his slit wrist and offer him cordial. For the rest, 
Gratiano, alone scathless after hard fighting, took advan- 
tage to comfort the nerve-racked Nerissa, whilst Portia 
bent weeping over Bassanio. 

"He is dead," she made moan. "See how his life 
blood drains! And it was for me he suffered! For me 
he gave away that which I would have fain cherished for- 
ever. O Bassanio! Thus to die and never know 
Portia loved you!" 

"Dead!" echoed Gratiano, startled from a more 
pleasant task, to read disaster in the picture near. 
"Bassanio dead? Nay, it cannot be. Life was too 
buoyant in him, lady, to be drained by so small a wound. 
If you had known how he dreamed of the moment when 
he should meet you — whose image has been so" long 
shrined in his heart — you would not believe he could lie 
there unmoved, unconscious that his dream comes near 
to realization." 

A long shiver shook the lady's form — to her it seemed 



186 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

as though her own dreams of springtide and glowing 
summer were so far from realization that winter's cruel 
winds had blighted and killed them past recall. 

So pale he looked, so lifeless, lying there, his shapely 
head pillowed on her lap — whilst with trembling fingers 
she essayed to open the doublet above his wound. As 
she bent to the difficult task Bassanio slowly opened his 
eyes, and looking up, saw a vision which he carried with 
him to his dying day; though at the first sight of it, he 
believed death past, and she who leaned above him 
some fair saint if not the Mother of Heaven herself. 

The long black veil which had closely shrouded the 
lady's face had been flung back, dragging down by its 
weight the coils of fair hair which now hung over her 
slender shoulders like a mantle of burnished gold. Her 
face in such a framing was pale but very lovely, with 
great blue eyes wide in a tenderness far deeper than pity 
gazing down to meet the rapturous glance of the man who, 
coming slowly back to life and consciousness, thanked 
Heaven that he saw neither angel nor saint, but the 
woman he loved. 

" Portia," he whispered, and her tears fell like healing 
balm upon his forehead. 

But she did not answer — afraid to trust herself — with 
Florio and her people standing by bewildered by the 
enigma of this happening, so that Gratiano, having 
soothed Nerissa's terrors and seeing the plight of his 
friend, took matters in hand and, with the air of a prince, 
commanded that a litter might be brought and a leech 
sent for from Padua, since the sooner the illustrious 
Signior Bassanio Ramberti could be brought to shelter 
and away from these chill woods the better it would be 
for his health. 



THE AMBUSH 187 

"But whither shall we take him, Signior?" inquired 
the doubtful Florio — who, having failed to plumb all this 
mystery, was uncertain whether or no his lady played the 
good Samaritan to a quondam foe. But Gratiano's 
hint had roused Portia from the maze of confused 
thoughts in which joy and grief strove for mastery. 

" Whither?" she cried sharply, noting how wearily 
the sick man's lids had dropped after that one welcoming 
glance. "Why, whither but to the palazzo? Under- 
stand, Florio, that but for this illustrious gentleman and 
his friend I — I should have been the prey of a very 
evil plotter. But come, the Signior is right. There must 
be no delay; make you a litter with your swords and 
cloaks, and carry Signior Ramberti carefully, an' 
you love me. Nay, wait till the wound is bandaged, 
foolish one. Nerissa, a strip of linen quickly. So — 
that is better. Florio, you shall send instantly to Padua 
by a swift messenger for the best leech in the town. 
Sweet St. Ursula! he swoons again. Nerissa, be more 
careful in your touch; here, give me the bandage." 

So impetuous was her speech, so quick her commands, 
that it was difficult to follow them as swiftly as she 
desired. 

Nor had the Lady Portia patience with their slowness. 
Blaming herself for the first delay when she had feasted 
her heart's longings in that one long look of love, she 
grew angry and impatient now at the least delay on the 
part of others, railing in unusual irritation when some 
of the servants attempted to raise Bassanio on to the 
impromptu litter, and set the bandage about his shoulder 
awry, so that fresh blood stained the whiteness of the 
linen. Even Nerissa did not escape scoldings, but per- 
haps she better understood her mistress' mood, for, as 



188 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

the men proceeded at foot pace towards the palazzo, she 
came to Portia's side, slipping her hand into that of the 
lady. 

"I think the Signior's hurt is not serious," she whis- 
pered. "And so, Signora, after all he comes to the 
Palazzo Nerlini." 

Had she guessed, little witch, that that was the 
triumphant thought, rioting over present fears, in her 
lady's heart? At any rate a warm pressure of her 
fingers assured her that her words had not been un- 
welcome. 

It was some hours later before the learned leech from 
Padua arrived to find that his nostrums and quackeries 
were not so very necessary. 

The ladies of that time were all well skilled in the 
dressing and bandaging of wounds and the applying of 
salves and simples, whilst, after all, a sword thrust in the 
shoulder was nothing so very alarming beyond the 
first faintness attendant on loss of blood, which in this 
case had been considerable; and, as it chanced, the faint- 
ness might have led to disastrous consequences had it 
not been for Balthazar's promptness in bringing assistance 
to his lady. 

The Paduan wiseacre discoursed much, forbade wine, 
ordered the most meagre of diets and spoke at immense 
length on the wonders of the drugs and salves he pre- 
scribed. 

Bassanio grew weary of so much widsom and openly 
yawned in the great man's face. His shoulder was stiff, 
he declared, and he was weary, but after a night's rest, 
would be as well as ever, and in spite of profound respect 
and gratitude for the illustrious physician's advice, 
felt he would be more perfectly restored by a full diet 
and generous liquor. 



THE AMBUSH 189 

"The fever is on him/' observed the leech, speaking 
afterwards to the fair chatelaine of the palazzo, "but 
the draught I have administered will cool his blood 
and produce sleep. I will visit him on the morrow and 
trust I shall find him on the road to recovery. Yet 
there must be care — the greatest care — since there ariseth 
much danger from indiscretion, and youth is ever 
impatient of sickness." 

Which last words were the truest the learned doctor 
had ever uttered. 

For the next few days Bassanio tossed to and fro in 
bed, fevered — not by his wound — but with impatience 
to be up and about, since the Lady Portia, in obedience 
to Dr. Cerello's injunctions, had not visited her sick 
guest. Bassanio, hearing of this mandate, through the 
indiscretion of Gratiano, raved in good earnest, so that 
Gratiano, playing the leech, boldly avowed to the lady 
that if she would see her visitor restored to health she 
must act the sick nurse herself in place of old Bettina. 

So Portia came, and Bassanio forgot forthwith that 
his wound was stiff and sore or that a miserable weakness 
kept his mind drifting down into that shadowland 
which is only half-consciousness. 

Surely there could be no shadow where this bright 
presence came — bending over his bed like some tender 
guardian-spirit — but thanking him as a woman thanks 
the man she loves. 

Was that a fancy too — bred of desire? Or did blue 
eyes tell more of the truth than they might have done 
for pity's sake? 

There were moments — when Portia was not by — spent 
by an anxious Bassanio in the asking of these questions, 
but in her presence all doubts were lulled, all fears for- 



190 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

gotten, whilst it seemed that he and she were on a 
golden sea sailing towards paradise. 

Thus the days drifted by, uncounted, unheeded, till 
Bassanio's wound was healed and his weakness more 
insisted on by Portia to keep her guest beneath the spell 
of those drifting days, than a reality. 

And Bassanio — a true Venetian in his taste for pleasure 
seeking — was content to yield to her command and lie 
at ease upon the soft couch before the window, resting 
amongst soft cushions and silken coverings, watching his 
lady as she sat beside a dainty wheel, with gilded distaff 
in her hand, less because she loved industry than because 
she knew full well the pose was graceful, showing the 
whiteness of her little hands, the curving sweep of her 
lily neck, the elaborate dressing of golden curls and the 
daintiness of the velvet-slippered feet which rested on 
the stool. 

Or at times she might read to him from one of the 
illumined scrolls by which her learned father had set 
such count, for she found something of a scholar in 
Bassanio, and it was pleasant to dip together into stores 
of written wisdom — though, be sure, they found the 
wisdom of each other's looks most pleasant of all — and 
the oldest tale in the world the one illumined in brightest 
colors of the soul. 

Then again, the lady, at request, might take the lute, 
as she did that day when three short weeks had run their 
length unheeded, and sang in a voice as sweet and clear 
as the reed warblers amongst the hedges in nesting time — 
a tuneful voice and words atune to both their moods. 

Love me but well, I will be thine forever; 
As long as shall endure the winds of heaven; 
While pen and ink endure I'll leave thee never; 
Love me but well; I will be thine forever. 



THE AMBUSH 191 

The refrain of the last line came twice in repetition, 
and the singer's voice had taken a deeper note, such as 
one hears on winter's nights amongst the pine trees. 

" Voleme ben, che saw sempre vostro." 

And Bassanio, looking into her tender woman's face, 
knew that this was another Portia to the one who in a 
silver springtime had given him a pink carnation and 
smiled her girlish welcome into his eyes. 

Yes, the child had become a woman during those short 
months; a wondrous change which thrilled him as that 
last line of her song had done. 

Alas! Was it his love alone which should win her? 
If so he would have had no fear — she would be his 
forever. But were there not the caskets — those fateful 
caskets, which held kindly or adverse fate for him? 

Portia laid aside her lute and came across to his couch. 

"You are weary, Signior," she murmured. "Would 
you sleep?" 

He looked up at her — his queen, his lady, between 
whom and himself rose the barrier of a dead father's 
decree. 

"Aye," he answered passionately, "I would sleep, 
lady, if you could promise me all my dreams should be of 
you. Though then I should not wish to waken." 

The rosy color tinged her cheeks, but she was not 
angry. 

"Life is more than a dream, Bassanio," she whispered. 

His eyes kindled and he rose, standing before her, 
his handsome head bent to a near level with her own. 

"And because it is more — far more than a dream — 
I must not linger, Monna," he urged. "I cannot remain 
haunted by the threatening of uncertain destiny. Let 
me make my choice and know whether paradise or hell 
lies before me." 



192 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

She looked at him, and her lips quivered. 

"Nay," she pleaded, "you — are not fully restored 
from the hurt you suffered for my sake. Be in no haste 
to choose, for — for though I will not say what I hope 
from that choice — yet I should be sorry for the neces- 
sity for one who — who has served me so well to leave 
me forever." 

But Bassanio's face grew stern. 

"Talking of service rendered," he replied, "reminds 
me of duty neglected. I have a friend in Venice, lady, 
to whom I owe more than I can recount — such a friend 
as man seldom possesses. I swore to him I would 
return long since, and he though very patient, will ask 
himself why Bassanio tarries — though I think he will 
guess some part of the reason." 

Portia di Nerlini smiled — then sighed. 

She would have denied him, coquetted, teased him, 
resenting the knowledge that she had shown her heart 
too plainly in those days when she had judged him to be 
dying for her sake. 

But it was too late now. How could she scorn him 
even in pretence when to-morrow he might be bidding 
her an eternal farewell? 

To hide her distress she moved nearer to the window, 
watching how Gratiano paced the garden terrace with 
Nerissa by his side. 

How happily they laughed, those two! And why 
should they not? Love had come to them untrammeled 
by hard condition and there was nothing between sweet 
confession and a lover's kiss. 

She saw Nerissa's red lips raised in invitation, saw the 
sunlight play on brown, curling locks and a blushing 
face, and could not altogether suppress the jealous sob 
which strangled in her throat. 



THE AMBUSH 193 

"Lady, you are sad?" 

Bassanio spoke, and she turned to him impulsively, 
pride drooping under the ban of cruel necessity. 

"It is hard, Bassanio," she whispered, "for — if I told 
the secret I should be forsworn, whilst if I tell it not — 
if I tell it not " 

"Why," he answered, stooping to raise one hand to 
his lips, "I will only listen to hope's song, lady. Why 
should we suffer twice what may not come? Has not 
Fate already shown herself our friend; since, but for 
Fate and your father's loving thought — for it was a 
thought of love, lady, and therefore cannot greatly err 
from its own purpose — you had been wooed and won by 
some insistent suitor who would have been hardly 
denied? And this would have happened whilst I lin- 
gered in Verona and Rome, little guessing the hidden 
secret of my own heart." 

She took courage at these words, even smiling as she 
allowed herself one swift glance to what life would be if 
Fate, under command of Heaven in answer to her 
father's prayers, guided Bassanio's choice on the 
morrow — that morrow into whose mysteries she did not 
dare to gaze. 

But she did not sing again that night — only prayed, 
kneeling by her bedside alone in the darkness long after 
Nerissa had left her. Prayed — with no words to offer, 
only a cry which went up in all the appeal of a loving 
woman's heart towards the starry heavens. 

And Bassanio, sleepless too, stood watching a bright 
star climb slowly above the sharp outline of the cypresses 
and pour its single beam down, as it were, into his 
tumultuous heart. 

"Love me but well — I will be thine forever." 

13 



194 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

His arms went out in a passionate gesture of longing. 
What guerdon could life hold comparable to this? 

Fame, wealth, the gratifying, of the highest ambitions, 
were but as nothing when weighed in the balance 
against love. 

It was strange that as he went to bed he was thinking 
tenderly and very pityingly of his dear friend Antonio, 
who had never known the love of woman. 

But then Bassanio, for all his superior wisdom and 
understanding, knew nothing of the light which had 
gone out of the life of Antonio his friend when the con- 
vent gates closed upon the fair form of Bianca Ramberti. 

So true it is that our nearest and dearest know little 
of the inner secrets of our hearts. 



Y 



CHAPTER XX 

THE FAILURE OF PURSUIT 

r 0U have returned?" 

Aaron Tubal inclined his head with slow 
dignity, folding his arms within' his wide 
sleeves. 

"I have returned," he answered, regarding Shylock 
with steady, inscrutable eyes. 

It was twilight in that upper room of the Jew's house, 
where signs of wealth lay smothered under thick layers 
of dust, since the washing of vessels, hands and feet, 
did not extend to things in general, but were observed 
only by the strict letter in the narrow creed of the Jew. 
So tawdry geegaws lay side by side with priceless 
objects of art — a veritable medley — such as might be 
seen in some old curiosity shop of to-day — with its 
owner standing in the midst, a striking figure for all its 
shabbiness, the light full on the lean, shriveled face with 
its great nose, blear eyes and patriarchal beard. Shy- 
lock's claw-like hands worked ceaselessly. 

"Did you find my daughter? Did you find Jessica?" 
he gasped. "Had she the jewels on her?" , 

His anxiety almost suffocated him; great beads of 
sweat broke over his forehead. 

Tubal stared gloomily at him, his own fingers thrust 
into his short black beard. 

"I often heard of her," he growled, "but never saw 
her. I did not spare myself in the search." 

(195) 



196 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

His somber eyes glowed. 

But at the news Shylock broke out into bitter 
lamentation. 

"May the curse of Abrahan light on the woman," he 
moaned, "and on the villain who tempted her to this 
sin! Think of it, Aaron! A diamond gone, cost me 
two tousand ducats in Frankfort! The curse never fell 
on our nation till now — at least, I never felt it till now. 
Two thousand • ducats in gold ! and other precious, 
precious jewels." 

He wrung his hands, sobbing in impotent fury. 

"I would my daughter were dead at my feet, and the 
jewels in her ears!" he groaned. "Would she were 
hearsed at my feet and the ducats in her coffin! No 
news of them! And, I know not what we shall have 
spent ih the search. Why, it is loss upon loss! The 
thief gone with so much, and so much to find the thief! 
And no satisfaction! No revenge! No ill-luck stirring, 
but it lights on my burdened shoulders — no sighs but 
of my breathing — no tears but of my shedding." 

Exhausted he sank into a chair, a pitiable object had 
it not been for the sordidness of his grief. 

Tubal raised his heavy brows, shrugging his shoulders. 
"Why, as for that," he replied, "other men have ill- 
luck, too. Antonio Cainello, as I heard in Genoa " 

He could get no further. 

Shylock was on his feet in an instant, his whole aspect 
changed to one of intense eagerness. 

He caught at TubaPs sleeve, rending it in his excite- 
ment. 

"What? What? What?" he gurgled incoherently, 
"ill-luck, ill-luck?" 

He was as some bald-headed vulture which spreads its 



THE FAILURE OF PURSUIT 197 

wings towards a distant fight in pleasant anticipation of 
dead men's flesh for feasting. 

"Cainello hath an argosy cast away, coming from 
Tripolis," concluded Tubal, freeing himself from the 
other's grasp. 

But Shylock had already loosed his hold, folding his 
hands in blaspemous thanksgiving. 

"I thank God! I thank God!" he cried, "Is it true, 
good Aaron? Dear Aaron, is it true?" 

He stooped, his hands on his knees, to peer up wick- 
edly into the other's face. 

"There can be no doubt," Tubal assured him calmly. 
"I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the 
wreck." 

Shylock laughed — such laughter as might have made 
one think of devils rejoicing over the souls of the 
damned. 

"I thank you, good Tubal," he cried. "Good news! 
Good news!" 

For the moment he could think of nothing else, since 
during the past three months his hatred to Antonio — 
upon whom he placed all the score of his misfortunes — 
had grown like some leprous taint till it obsessed him. 
But Tubal quickly directed back his thoughts to less 
pleasant channels. 

"Your daughter Jessica," said the younger man, not 
without some show of malice, "spent in Genoa, as I 
heard, four score ducats in a single night." 

Shylock reeled, clasping his hand over his heart. 
"You stick a dagger in me," he moaned. "Alas! I 
shall never see my gold again! Four score ducats at a 
sitting ! Four — score — ducats !" 

He was dazed at such disaster. 



198 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Tubal looked at him in secret amusement. 

"I journeyed back to Venice in company with some 
of Antonio's creditors," he said. "They declare he 
must be bankrupt — the wealthiest could not weather so 
much misfortune." 

Shylock's restless eyes glittered with satisfaction. 

"And to-morrow/ ' he muttered, "the bond is due. 
Three months to-morrow — and if he cannot pay — his 
bond is forfeit." He clutched the air, gibbering like an 
evil ape. "I'll plague him," he whispered beneath his 
breath, "torture him too. At last, Antonio, the Jew's 
day will dawn. Look to to-morrow! I shall be waiting. 
And it is certain that thus three at least of his argosies 
have met with disaster. How well have I planned! 
How all falls out to my dearest wish! How " 

"One of these same fellows," quoth Tubal carelessly, 
"showed me a ring, that he had of your daughter for a 
monkey." 

Shylock shrieked aloud, as though a torturer had 
wrung his limbs upon a rack. 

"Out upon her!" he sobbed. "It was my turquoise, 
Aaron. I had it of Leah when I was a bachelor. I 
would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys." 

Tubal fingered his yellow badge meditatively. 

"Antonio is certainly undone," he said. "I do not 
think we shall see him strutting it as of yore on the 
Rialto." 

"That is true," retorted Shylock, showing wolfish 
fangs. "You may rest assured of that, good Tubal. 
Come, let us go out now and learn what further news 
of disaster there may be. I have hopes, Aaron, great 
hopes of to-morrow. You are sure Antonio's creditors 
spoke with certainty of his breaking? Good! Good! 



THE FAILURE OF PURSUIT 199 

We will go to the Rialto and hear more of the matter, 
which is sure to be buzzing from mouth to mouth 
amongst the merchants. Antonio broke! Why, it is 
the best news you could have brought me. You are 
coming?" 

But Tubal shook his head. 

"1 returned from Genoa, as I promised," said he, 
"but I have not given up my search of Jessica and her 
Gentile lover. I almost had my hand upon them — but 
I think they had warning. Yet they have not wholly 
escaped. | Have I not vowed to find them? I do not 
think I am a man lightly forsworn. So, by your leave, 
Shylock, I lose no time in starting for Rome, where I 
have good assurances I shall find them." 

Shylock blinked in some astonishment. 

"To what profit?" he demanded bitterly. "The jade 
will have spent the ducats and sold the jewels. I shall 
never see either again." 

Tubal showed yellow teeth in a vicious grin. 

"You spoke but lately of revenge," he retorted, 
"thinking of Antonio. I too speak of revenge — and 
think of the man who stole my bride. You understand?" 

It was a creed which the elder Jew only too clearly 
understood, and he laughed a crackling, contemptuous 
laugh. 

"So you will kill Lorenzo?" he said. "Well! I'm 
glad of it. But do not bring Jessica hither again, lest 
I should lay violent hands on my own flesh and blood, 
thinking of the jewels, my precious, lost jewels." 

Tubal shook his head. 

"Oh, no," he replied. "I will not bring Jessica to 
you again — though I shall hope to kill Lorenzo." 

His eyes were inscrutable as he went out and away 



200 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

down the staircase, crossing the bridge towards his own 
home. 

But Shylock did not pause to consider the enigmatical 
words or ponder on what his daughter's ultimate fate 
would be should her lover be slain and she fall into the 
hands of her ferocious countryman. 

Since his ducats and jewels were irretrievably gone, 
the old man had no tears to waste over a lost daughter. 

So, as he stood waiting for a boat to take him in the 
direction of the Rialto, he yielded undivided thought 
to the more pleasant consideration of Antonio Cainello's 
misfortunes. 

If all were true as Tubal had said, the morrow would 
have a crowning joy for Shylock the Jew, which almost 
compensated for past distresses. 

There were many to turn and gaze at the shabby 
figure in its coarse gabardine and yellow turban as 
Shylock hurried past the drapers' shops set under the 
porticos of the Rialto. 

Every now and then a group of bare-footed urchins 
would run after him, mocking. 

"Hast found thy daughter, Jew?" one would cry, 
leering at him with lolling tongue, whilst another would 
add, "What of the ducats pretty Jessica stole, Shylock?" 

And a third, seeing the victim wince, uttered another 
taunt, "Has she invited thee to her Christian home, 
Jew, so that thou canst eat pork? Good pork, paid for 
at price of thy ducats." 

The little rascals were scattered at last by a pitying 
silk vendor, who noted how pale the old Jew had grown, 
and thought he suffered, little guessing that it was but 
rage at white heat. 

Knots of merchants, richly clad in silks and velvets 



THE FAILURE OF PURSUIT 201 

of gay or sober coloring according to their wearer's 
fancy, stood together eagerly discussing the news of 
the day. 

As Shylock had guessed, Antonio Cainello's name was 
on every lip. The young merchant's unprecedented 
successes, his wealth and bold trading had not — as is so 
usually the case — made him an object of envy and 
dislike. The man was too kindly, too generous, too 
fair in his dealing to rouse animosity or hate. In fact, 
there was no more popular man in all Venice than 
Antonio the merchant. Rich and poor admired, trusted, 
loved him for his noble uprightness. Shylock the Jew 
and his like were the sole exceptions. 

So, when fortune, by the most cruel trickery, turned 
her face from her favorite, sending disaster upon disaster 
to wreck his hopes and bring ruin to torment him, the 
unfortunate victim of her caprices found many sympa- 
thizers on the Rialto, in the Ducal Palace, aye, and in 
those meaner streets where his kindly heart had taken 
him in charity for the poor and suffering. 

And, in and out of the crowd, lingering here, listening 
there, like some black bird of prey, stole Shylock the 
Jew, whilst the more he heard the greater grew his 
satisfaction. 

Not only was Tubal's story true, but there were other 
tales confirmed again and again, relating how not one 
or two, but every single venture launched by Cainello 
on the treacherous seas had been doomed either to 
wreckage or piracy. 

Ruined indeed was he, beyond all hope and doubt. 
Already men wondered how it would go with him, and 
what his creditors might hope to receive when all his 
worldly gear was sold. 



202 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Idle speculations, pitying speculations — Shylock the 
Jew listened to them all, and laughed into his beard as 
he told himself that it was very certain he might wait 
in vain to-morrow for the coming of Antonio and his 
three thousand ducats. 

Presently, in his wanderings up and down the Rialto, 
he came upon the merchants Salarino and Salanio, whom 
he knew as dear friends of Antonio and Bassanio both. 

They looked glum enough, having no doubt been join- 
ing in that buzz of talk which raged around Antonio's 
name and misadventures. 

Yet Salarino, disdainful in his twitting of the Jew, 
hailed him mockingly. 

"How now, Shylock?" cried he, thrusting his thumbs 
under his armpits, and stretching his legs somewhat 
widely apart. "What news amongst the merchants?" 

Shylock scowled evilly. He hated these men, who 
never disguised their contempt for him. 

"You know," he muttered, "none so well — none so 
well as you — of my daughter's flight." 

Salarino chuckled. "That's certain," he admitted 
slyly. "I, for my part, knew the tailor that made the 
wings she flew away with." 

Shylock did not answer, but stood tugging at his 
beard, with vindictive glances towards the two young 
men who would have made sport of him. In their gay 
doublets and velvet cloaks they made fine show — whilst 
he, in his shabby gabardine, was the Croesus who could 
have bought them and their fine prankings over and 
over again. Yet he hated them for this semblance of 
wealth which had so poor a reality. 

But Salarino grew grave. 

"Have you heard the news," he asked tentatively, 
"how our poor Antonio hath had losses at sea?" 



THE FAILURE OF PURSUIT 203 

Shylock showed his teeth in a vicious leer. 

"There/' he snarled, "I have another bad bargain. 
A bankrupt! A prodigal, who scarcely dare show his 
head on the Rialto! A beggar — who used to come so 
smug upon the mart. But let him look to his bond! 
He was wont to call me usurer; let him look to his bond ! 
He was wont to led money for a Christian courtesy; 
let him look to his bond!" 

As he proceeded the old man's whole being seemed to 
dilate with that venom which swells the head of some 
poisonous snake before it strikes its victim. His lips 
frothed as in a frenzy — he shook in the very voicing of 
his rage. 

"Why," quoth young Salanio soothingly, "I am sure 
if he is forfeit you will not take his flesh. What's that 
good for?" 

Both he and his companion stood, with arms akimbo 
now, eyeing the Jew as those who look on some new and 
hideous monstrosity; yet they neither of them could 
believe Shylock's significant threat was uttered in sober 
earnest. 

"Good for?" echoed the latter shrilly. "Well- 
to bait fish withal! If it will feed nothing else, it will 
feed my revenge." 

Salarino interposed. "Come," he urged, "what hurt 
hath Antonio Cainello ever done you, Jew? His is the 
kindest heart in Venice, aye, and in all Italy. If you 
were sickfor sorry, instead of rich, his feet would be the 
readiest to come your way with succor and good cheer." 

But Shylock was deaf to such reasoning. 

Mayhap his brain, half crazed with sundry losses and 
adversities, had fastened in ill-proportioned hate upon 
this man whom he regarded as his bitterest enemy and 
cause of all his misfortunes. 



204 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"What hurt hath he not done me?" he squealed, 
spitting upon the ground. "He has disgraced me and 
baulked me of half a million ducats. He has laughed at 
my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, 
thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated my 
enemies. And what's the reason for all his malice? 
I am a Jew" 

He paused, panting, giving vent for the first time 
to the full tale of his long-cherished grievances. 

"Hath not a Jew eyes?" he demanded. "Hath not 
a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, 
passions? Is he not fed with the same food, hurt with 
the same weapons, subject to the same diseases,' healed 
by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same 
winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us, 
do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? 
If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, 
shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, 
we will resemble you in that ! If a Jew wrong a Christian, 
what is his return? Revenge! If a Christian wrong a 
Jew, why should he not follow Christian example and 
take revenge too? The villainy you teach me I will 
execute, and it shall go hard if I cannot better the 
instruction." 

He raised both lean arms aloft as though invoking 
Heaven itself to attest to his cruel vow. Thus his com- 
panions left him, shuddering as they moved back to the 
more crowded part of the Rialto, crossing themselves, 
too, as though at the sight of something evil. 

"Would that Bassanio were back in Venice," said 
Salanio impulsively. "For I think yon Jew means 
mischief. Yet, after all, what can he do but throw our 
poor Antonio into prison for debt? Since assuredly 



THE FAILURE OF PURSUIT 205 

neither the Duke nor Senate would listen to the demand 
for fulfilment of so wild a bond." 

But Salarino was looking back to where a bent figure 
in shabby gabardine and yellow turban was hastening 
away from the Rialto. 

He too pitied Antonio Cainello from the depths of his 
heart. 



M 



CHAPTER XXI 

IN THE CHURCH OF SAN MARCO 

f*!^ /T Y lord Bassanio has not returned, illustrious 
Signior." 

The servant's tones were respectful, yet his 
black eyes were inquisitive, since, like the rest of Venice, 
he had heard how disaster had engulfed the fortunes of 
the Signior Cainello, reputed one of the richest of the 
younger merchants of the city. 

"Ah," said Antonio, concealing disappointment under 
a calm demeanor. "Not returned? And you have not 
heard from him?" 

"No, illustrious." 

Antonio Cainello sighed as he re-entered his gondola — 
he had hoped to have seen his friend, since already the 
day had dawned and passed for the redeeming of his 
bond to Shylock the Jew. And, though he might smile 
at the mere jest which fixed the forfeit of his bond, a 
sense of oppression weighed on him. 

It was the hour of noon and the Piazza San Marco 
was crowded with pleasure seekers, sightseers, buyers 
and vendors, their bright-hued dresses, doublets, caps 
and veils making a blaze of color along the broad pave- 
ment of the Piazza. 

Venice held carnival to-day for victories gained by her 
sons in foreign battlefields, and the spirit of gayety, 
triumph and pride was stamped on every smiling face 
amongst the jostling crowd, which sang and danced as 

(206) 



IN THE CHURCH OF SAN MARCO 207 

the jingle of lute and guitar drifted to them from the 
gayly-decked gondolas which plied to and fro across the 
lagoons. 

It was a busy, stirring spectacle, which would have 
equally pleased patriot or artist. Vivid color was every- 
where, and the winter sunshine blazed with summer 
warmth over the gay scene which was no uncommon 
one in these golden days of the great Venetian Republic. 

Perhaps the most famous carnival of all in point of 
gorgeous display had been that which marked the receiv- 
ing of the news of the victory of Lepanto, when the 
Turks had been defeated by the Christian alHes. Then, 
whilst in the church of San Marco, the Government were 
offering up thanksgiving, the exchanges of the various 
nations were illuminated, and the porticos of the Rialto 
were hung with cloth of gold, turquoise and scarlet, 
trophies of Turkish arms and beautiful pictures. A 
great triumphal arch had been erected at the foot of the 
Rialto bridge, whilst every window had its flags or 
carpets, and for three days continuously the bells of all 
the churches rang joy peals. The masqueraders too, 
representing Stradiotti, Swiss, Turks, Moors and fisher- 
men, had roused the wildest enthusiasm, forming as they 
did an escort to the procession of cars on which were 
represented Faith, Venice and the three quarters of the 
globe. 

To-day the carnival was being carried out in less 
prodigal display, yet it was interesting enough; though, 
for his part, Antonio Cainello was in no mood for merry- 
making. 

As quickly as he might he threaded his way amongst 
the laughing crowd and gained the more congenial 
asylum of the great church, where the Mass was nearing 
its conclusion. 



208 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

The Duke, his train and most of the magnificoes of 
Venice were there kneeling in solemn prayer and thanks- 
giving for victory which had been the gift of Heaven. 

But Antonio knelt alone, far in the background 
behind a marble pillar where the shadows fell thickly. 

Why had he come hither? Had he thanksgiving to 
offer — he, the penniless bankrupt, down in the dust of 
humiliation and poverty? 

A sigh broke from his lips as the organ pealed forth 
its triumphal paean of victory and the voices of the 
choristers rose sweet and clear in praise. 

The beauty of the Te Deum could not fail to find 
some echo in the heart of the soul-sick man. After all, 
was it necessary to despair because his ships were sunk 
and his fortunes broken? 

One boy was singing a solo now — a fair-haired child 
in scarlet cassock and cap and lace surplice — his voice 
flooded the great church with the melody of angels and 
Was answered by the thunder of the organ, the voices 
of his companions and the massed congregation. Then 
slowly the procession of tonsured priests filed out of their 
stalls and vanished from sight. The Duke arose and 
passed down the aisle, his head bowed in reverence, 
as he led the way out followed by his nobles and train 
of attendants. Out into the sunlight they went, and 
Antonio could hear the cries of "II Duca — il Duca" 
— as the soldiers cleared a way for the ducal procession 
back to the Palace, where feasting and dancing would 
fill up the rest of the day and night. But he himself, 
kneeling in the shadows behind the pillar of white marble, 
was glad to be alone in the silence. The echo of that 
sweet boy's voice lingered in the aisles and dark corners 
of the great building, with its incense-laden atmosphere. 



IN THE CHURCH OF SAN MARCO 209 

From where he stayed, Antonio could see how a shaft 
of sunshine, stealing through a high, stained window, 
fell athwart the white purity of clustering lilies on the 
altar. Fell too across the sculptured Figure of the 
crucified Christ, the Bowed Head drooping under the 
weight of its thorn-crown and infinite suffering. 

It was then that Antonio could pray. 

Few words and halting at first, barely articulate; 
though, as he raised his face towards the Figure of 
divine compassion and love, peace gradually stole to his 
heart — as the sunlight lay warm upon the flowers yonder. 

After all, what mattered poverty if love remained? 
A sigh escaped him. From contemplation of the highest, 
his mind reverted to that other love which had shown 
him a golden path he might never tread. 

"Bianca!" he breathed, and let his thoughts drift as 
they had so often drifted before in wonder as to whether 
in Heaven he might one day tell his lady what love of 
her had meant to him on earth. 

A golden cord, pure and unsullied by carnal taint, 
drawing him upward to the infinite love of God. Bianca! 
He saw her now, as he had seen her, ah, so long ago — 
a slim, girlish figure, robed in white and gold, waiting on 
the steps of her brother's palazzo for the gondola which 
was to take her to some banquet at a friend's house. 
How lovely she had looked, the flush of expectancy on 
her sweet, childish face, her dark hair crowning the head 
which a long veil enshrouded — a veil only raised for a 
moment so that Antonio, breathless with longing, had 
seen the glory of those great gray eyes. 

A child's eyes, clear of guile, looking out for an instant 
in amaze at the great world she was never to know. 

That had been the last time Antonio saw her, but he 

14 



210 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

pictured her again, no less lovely though yet more angelic, 
in her gray nun's dress, kneeling alone in some narrow 
cell, her eyes grown mystical with looking not on earth 
but Heaven. 

And yet again he saw her to-day, standing there 
near the altar, white robed, exultant, eternally beautiful, 
gazing neither towards the world — or Heaven — but at 
him. 

Yes, he grew bold in his visioning. Here was the 
reward he prayed for — the reward, ah! how ill-deserved 
— for all his suffering and patience — that she should 
know him in eternity, come to him, laying her sweet 
hand in his, calling him "Antonio." 

Again the echo of the little chorister's song of praise 
rang trumpet-like in his ears. Could he sing too — 
because Bianca, being dead, still lived, aye, and had 
looked towards him from amongst the lilies of the altar? 

Tears filled the kneeler's eyes. He had forgotten that 
he had entered the church a broken, ruined man. He 
only knew that beyond death the angels sang the song 
of the Resurrection and Atonement, and that amongst 
them stood one whom he would call Bianca when he 
went to find her. 

Then, since thoughts drift hither and thither, like 
feathers in a sportive breeze, even in most recollected 
moments, he fell to wondering how Bassanio fared, 
and of his own deep love for Bianca 's brother. 

Why, yes — who had called him ruined, bankrupt, 
when he held such a wealth of love all his own? He 
could smile at the bare suggestion. 

Bassanio loved him — he loved Bassanio and would 
very gladly suffer all the pangs the future might hold for 
him in serving his friend. How noble and how true 



IN THE CHURCH OF SAN MARCO 211 

a word that was! His friend. So closely locked in 
each other's love that no reverse of fickle fortune could 
sever them. He prayed again — this time for Bassanio's 
happiness, and saw the lilies sway in a little breeze as 
a door opened somewhere behind the choristers' stalls 
and an old priest came out to pass towards the altar rail 
and there kneel. 

He prayed for others, as was his office. Antonio 
prayed too, as was the obligation of his friendship. 
Was Bassanio happy in his love? Would he win his 
Portia after such long delay? 

Antonio sighed very faintly. A black shadow passed 
across the golden sheen of prayer — the devil, come even 
into the holy place to mar what he most feared. 

And this time the devil took the form of Shylock the 
Jew. 

The day had passed when his bond should be redeemed, 
and Antonio had not a thousand ducats in the world. 
No, nor likelihood of gaining them. 

Of course there was the hope that Bassanio, married 
to a rich wife, would be returning anon to pay the debt 
he more rightly owed. 

But what of the bond? An idle jest? A folly to 
cloak a generous deed? Why, after all, that had been 
out of nature in Shylock the Jew! 

Moreover, last night, Salarino and Salanio in supping 
with him had given no hint of his creditor's charitable 
spirit. Instead they had looked askance when Shylock 
was mentioned, and Salanio had railed on the vile Jew 
in no measured terms. 

Chaotic thoughts were these, some of which had been 
enough to weigh down Antonio's spirit before he entered 
the church. But now he grew more resigned, more 



212 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

peaceful in his mind. Had he not watched the sunlight 
fade over a thorn-crowned Head? Had he not dreamed 
of Bianca's form, a lily amongst lilies, a messenger from 
eternal shores, sent by Love Incarnate to solace him in 
his pain? After all, if death should follow ruin he would 
not weep, but rather smile in offering sacrifice for a dear 
friend. 

"Bianca — love," he whispered, "do you know, 
Bianca, you — amongst the lilies of Heaven?" Then 
he rose from his knees and went out from the cool 
church with its shadows and sunlight, its lilies and 
crosses, incense and praises, leaving a white-haired 
priest to pray for Venice in the hour of her triumphs. 

The glare of the Piazza, the thronging garishness of 
the crowd in flaunting colors and merry hubbub, dazed 
Antonio, so that he put up his hand to shade his eyes. 

Everything was still blurred and indistinct when a 
shrill note, dominant among other voices, pierced clear 
and startling to his clouded senses. 

" It is he!" cried the voice of Shy lock the Jew. "Take 
him, officers. Bind him, lead him away to prison. It 
is the Duke's command. I have his written order. 
Do not hesitate. Bind him, lead him away." 

Antonio looked round, and saw his enemy beside him. 
Yes, his enemy. No cloak of disguise now. No fawn- 
ing sycophant who held out a spurious olive branch, 
crying, "Take me for your friend. By this bond, this 
merry bond which holds no breath of usury, take me to 
your heart of friendship." 

It was hate undisguised which blazed from blear 
eyes into the face of Antonio Cainello, so that the 
latter knew the truth even before it was uttered. 

And for a moment the young merchant stood silent, 




'The Duke shall grant me justice." 



IN THE CHURCH OF SAN MARCO 213 

dumfounded by such hate as he saw directed towards 
him. Shylock without a mask! No pleasant sight 
forsooth — so that mothers hurried by, clasping their 
babes to their breasts lest the little ones should be 
overlooked by some fateful glance, whilst young girls 
drew their veils of golden tissue closer over their faces 
after one scared peep towards the group gathered near 
the church. 

A small guard stood by the Jew, yet it was obvious 
that the men were as reluctant as they could be to obey 
his behest, for it went against the grain, in those days 
of fierce racial feeling, for a Jew to have the better of a 
Christian. And in this case the natural feeling was 
strengthened by the knowledge of the two men and 
their characters. 

But Shylock grew impatient, seeing the gathering 
throng and hearing the murmurs which called shame on 
him and urged the guard to refusal of his will. 

"Will you gainsay the Duke's command?" he snarled. 
"If so you shall suffer for it. Bind the man, bring him 
on his way to jail." 

Antonio understood now, and the color dyed his 
cheeks, whilst he could not forbear protest, useless 
though he might have known it. 
: , "Hear me, Shylock " he began. 

But his enemy cut him short. 

"I'll have my bond," he gibbered. "Speak not 
against my bond! I've sworn an oath that I will have 
my bond. You called me dog before you had a cause. 
But since I am a dog, beware my fangs. The Duke shall 
grant me justice." 

The guard, impressed by the last words, reluctantly 
approached their prisoner. 



214 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Still Antonio urged, seeing how his good friend Salarino 
hastened through the crowd towards them. 

"I pray you, hear me speak," he entreated. 

Shylock only shook his head. "I'll have my bond," 
he reiterated. " I will not hear you speak. I'll have my 
bond. Speak no more. What! Shall I, a son of 
Abraham, yield to Christian intercessors? I'll not be 
made a soft and dull-eyed fool to sigh, relent and pardon. 
I'll have no speaking. I'll have my bond." 

The guard had gathered about Antonio now, and 
though there were passers-by who stopped to gape, 
calling curses on the Jew and pity on his victim, yet, 
seeing the ducal liveries, they dared not interfere. 

Salarino, however, had forced his way almost to his 
friend's side. He had been utterly dismayed to hear 
the news, which had already reached the Rialto, of how 
Shylock had been since early dawn at the Ducal Palace 
importuning the Duke for Antonio's arrest, even threat- 
ening if his request were not complied with. In vain 
the Duke had tried to withhold consent. The Jew had 
him on the hip with his reiteration of the Duke's own 
motto, " Justice in the Palace." So justice had her 
way, though Salarino could have wept aloud as he saw 
Antonio, the kindly, revered merchant of lofty standing 
and unimpeachable character, standing like any common 
criminal under arrest. 

"Cur!" he gasped, "will nothing change your humor? 
Come, we will bargain with you on the Rialto. Your 
favorite game, Shylock. You'll not miss the oppor- 
tunity, vile Jew?" 

Shylock made no reply. He was urging the guard, 
who moved slowly forward towards the prison, to 
hasten their steps. 



IN THE CHURCH OF SAN MARCO 215 

"Let him alone," said Antonio quietly, turning to his 
friend with gentle dignity, as Salarino strode by his side, 
cursing and weeping. "I'll follow him with no more 
bootless prayers. He seeks my life — nothing less will 
satisfy him. Nor is his reason far to seek. He hates 
me, amico, because I have often saved those who had 
come under his extortioner's lash." 

"I am sure," responded the other hotly, "the Duke 
will never grant this forfeiture to hold." 

Antonio shook his head — he would not accept the 
hope of such hollow comfort. 

"The Duke cannot deny the course of law," he replied. 
"Justice is justice and must be administered without 
favor or travesty. See you, Salarino. It is impossible 
it should be otherwise, since so many strangers live and 
trade amongst us from other lands. These must see 
that the law holds no devious cause. The Jew is right 
there — and so I suffer. Nay, do not weep at that. I 
am so worn with grief and losses that I cannot hope 
to spare a pound of flesh to this bloody creditor and live. 
Yet, if it might be, I would see Bassanio again. He is 
not in the city now — but at Belmont." 

"He would not linger in returning did he dream of 
what may happen in Venice," replied Salarino in a voice 
choked by grief. 

A slight shadow crossed Antonio's face. 

"I know it well," he replied. "And if I could would 
send a messenger with my letter — if pen and ink are 
allowed me, as I think they will be. Salarino, in this 
perchance you'll stand my friend? There is a man who 
feels himself in my debt — one Tito Scappini, who has 
repaid my trifling service many times in love. Yet he'll 
not grudge to pay again, and I can trust to rinding him 



216 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

willing to go to Belmont for me, deliver my letter to 
Bassanio and show him my case. There is no need for 
more, since Bassanio will not tarry in coming if but to 
clasp my hand in fond farewell." 

"Nay," retorted Salarino stoutly, "this Scappini 
whom I have often seen at the quays and whom I know 
well enough for an honest lubber, is no messenger to 
send on such an errand. But fret not, Antonio; there 
are feet as willing, hearts as fond and brains more nimble 
than this poor fisherman's, who I warrant would be too 
mazed by despair at hearing of your plight to have one 
grain of understanding left in his simple pate. So you 
shall send me in Scappini's place; or, if not, I'll take 
myself, since I vow this day shall see me at Belmont 
and that before the sun is near its setting." 

Antonio smiled gratefully into the other's twisted 
face, where grief, anger, and determination struggled 
together for predominance. 

"Why, this is kind," he said, "and I thank you, 
Angelo. Yet I hesitate to accept this service, knowing 
how your own affairs engage you on the Rialto, needing 
your constant care and attendance. I would not have 
you light on disaster for my sake." 

Salarino shrugged his shoulders with the careless 
gesture of one who hides deeper emotion. 

"For that," said he, "I am better out of Venice, 
both wit and body,than that my body should be on the 
Rialto whilst my wit wavers between your prison and 
Belmont. Say no more, Antonio, and I will visit you 
in less than an hour's time, when you shall have the 
letter written. I will have my gondola ready, and 
hey, presto! before you have time to wonder what 
Bassanio thinks of your news he will be here himself 



IN THE CHURCH OF SAN MARCO 217 

cudgeling his brains how to save a friend from a churlish 
devil who shall find Venice at the same heat as his 
native pit if I have my way." 

And the speaker scowled across to where Shylock 
shuffled along by the side of the captain of the guard, 
whose glum face showed that he found him no pleasant 
comrade. 

"The letter shall be writ," declared Antonio, with 
more confidence, "and commended to your care and 
love, my Salarino. Why, trouble but proves to a poor 
man his better wealth. I thank you, friend, for this 
proof of friendship." 

"If I could wring yon Jew's scraggy neck, I would 
count the service of more esteem," growled Salarino, 
winking away his tears, as the grim gates of the prison 
loomed in view. "However, Bassanio shall have your 
letter, and you shall have Bassanio before another dawn, 
if friendship doth not miscarry as justice hath at times 
a trick of doing." 

So saying the merchant strode hastily off towards the 
Rialto to spread dismay there by a vivid recountal of 
the day's tragedy and convene a deputation of twenty 
of the most notable merchants to wait on the Duke — 
and if necessary on Shylock himself. 



CHAPTER XXII 

NERISSA MAKES CONDITIONS 

**T)UT, Nerissa " 

jj Poor Gratiano's ready eloquence was checked. 

Mumchance he stood before the dainty little 

figure in its green gown, which poised on a step above 

him, where a shallow flight of wooden stairs led to a 

rustic bower. 

Nerissa knew her powers — who better? — and that she 
was altogether charming and delectable as she stood, 
with dainty arms akimbo, swaying to and fro very 
slightly, so that the long ends of her sleeves, falling 
from the elbows of her gown almost to the ground, gave 
a soft swishing sound against the shrubs as they brushed 
them. 

"But, Signior Gratiano," she mocked teasingly, allow- 
ing him to see the dimples which rioted over the plump 
smoothness of her cheeks. 

He stretched out his right arm, trying to imprison her 
hand, but she was too quick for him, and retreated up 
another step, looking for all the world like a kitten 
who wants a game of play with the puppy dog who 
insists in misinterpreting arched back and ruffled fur. 

It was the first time in his life that Gratiano had 
been at a loss for words. Had you asked his reputation 
of a score of friends in Venice, all would have been in 
one tale about him as a boon companion, a merry jester, 
an incessant chatterer — and an arch flirt. 

(218) 



NERISSA MAKES CONDITIONS 219 

But this time he was serious — and in the art of serious 
persuasion he was a novice. 

Yet, after all, simplicity was, as it always is, most 
eloquent of any. 

"I love you," he said, and the distant splashing of 
a fountain echoed the words. 

Nerissa ceased to mock — she even deigned to descend 
one step. 

"Why, you've told me that before," she whispered. 
"Take care, Messer Gratiano, for if you repeat yourself 
too often you will end by believing your own words. 
And then, hey! for gay bachelorhood and all the delights 
of the town." 

The words inspired him with hope, so that he rashly 
repeated his offence and tried to take her hands. 

"Nerissa," he pleaded, seeing her retreat once more — 
three steps this time, and a frown between white brows 
into the bargain. "If you love me, torment me not. 
What shall I say to teach you reason? I love you, 
I would marry you, and " 

She stretched her ringers wide before her face in mock 
dismay. "And make me one of your fine Venetian 
dames," cried she, "prancing in clogs so high that I 
vow I should break my legs if I tried to walk in them, 
and wearing my hair crisp and dyed about my shoulders, 
like any flaunting courtesan. Fie, Messer Gratiano! 
I prefer Belmont, if it please you." 

"It is not so!" he cried passionately. "If you will 
wed me, Nerissa, I vow by the sword of San Marco 
and every other saint in the calendar that you shall 
dress as you please, walk as you please, be served as 
you please. Have no fear, carissima. Do you not 
believe I love you?" 



220 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Of course she believed it, but would not admit it just 
yet. So she stripped a leaf from the shrub near and 
began idly to twist it. 

"For that matter," she replied, a you are no doubt a 
past-master in loving, but here at Belmont we have 
so little practice." And she sighed in forlorn fashion. 

"I swear to you," urged Gratiano, mounting one of 
the steps, "that till I met you I never loved." 

She raised drooping lids just high enough to let him 
see the smouldering depths of black eyes beneath. 
"Nor ever told a woman you did so?" she demanded. 

He did not answer, unable to lie in so wholesale a 
manner. 

Nerissa frowned. "After all," she summed up, "the 
holy nuns are probably right. Men are born but to 
deceive silly women, and it is better to forswear their 
company altogether." 

So incongruous a sentiment, coming from lips plainly 
created for kisses, set Gratiano laughing. 

"Monna Nerissa," he retorted, "I shall certainly 
become a monk the day that sees you take the veil." 

She was offended by his levity and tilted her chin 
with lofty disdain. 

"After all," said she, "it is no such very unlikely 
happening, since I have vowed never to wed the man 
of my choice till my mistress marries hers." 

Gratiano 's face grew glum. 

"What difference can that make to your lady?" he 
urged. "If she be sick or sad, will it restore her to see 
you sick and sad, too?" 

Nerissa shrugged her dainty shoulders. 

"I am no lawyer to stand arguing," she declared, 
"but I'll not wed, leaving my dear lady to plait Saint 



NERISSA MAKES CONDITIONS 221 

Catherine's tresses alone. You will not argue against 
a vow, Signior." 

"At least I deplore it," groaned Gratiano, "for till 
now I congratulated myself that no barrier lay between 
me and my love such as makes that of Bassanio and 
the Lady Portia a thing of hopes and fears, with fear 
outstripping hope." 

"Fie! You speak confidently of my love, Messer 
Self -Assurance." 

He came up another step, and not attempting to 
take her hand, boldly encircled a slim waist with his 
arm. 

"Carissima," he whispered very earnestly, "I love 
you, and I have dared to read an answering passion in 
those sweet eyes. Look at me, Nerissa, and tell me I 
have read aright." 

She hesitated between fleeing up to the shelter of 
the arbor and obeying; and perhaps the dread that she 
might, after all, lose a lover in her devotion to a mistress 
made her kind, for she looked down into the smiling, 
handsome face a little below the level of her own, and 
gave him a silent answer. 

"Nerissa!" he cried, and then and there would have 
folded her in his arms. 

But this the little coquette would not allow. She 
must be sparing of her favors if she intended to keep 
her vow; so she slipped from and past him, reaching 
the lawn before he had fully realized his arms were 
empty. 

"Why are you cruel?" he complained. "Why will 
you not listen, Nerissa? Is not the tale of a man's 
love sweet to you? Why should we not enjoy a sunlit 
hour? What in life shall ever be found so sweet again? 



222 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

You must not deny me, by your own love. Come 
back." 

He held out his arms, but she only shook her head. 

"No, no," she reiterated — the more stubbornly, be- 
cause her heart cried "Yes, yes." — "I have told you my 
vow, and lay command upon you not to speak to me 
of love till after this momentous choice to which your 
friend the Lord Bassanio will be going at once in com- 
pany with my lady." 

Gratiano came slowly down the steps. 

"The choice?" he echoed. "Is it indeed to be made 
to-day?" 

He had not realized what a grave occasion this was 
till he heard Nerissa's vow. 

"Already," declared Nerissa, "we have lingered too 
long in selfish dalliance. Without loss of a moment I 
must go in to my mistress, who will need me sorely, 
even if the Lord Bassanio be so cool-blooded that he 
desires not the support of a friend in such an hour 
of crisis." 

"I blame myself," replied Gratiano, "that I was not 
with him before. But,, Nerissa " 

"Yes, illustrious?" 

"You are not — in earnest about — a vow?" 

"Indeed, Signior, I am not accustomed to use light- 
ness in such grave matters. If the Lady Portia does 
not wed the Lord Bassanio she vows none shall have 
her but Holy Church, whom she will wed straightway. 
And as I have vowed to follow my lady's example in all 
things, it remains that if she weds not, I must remain 
maid and attend her to the nearest convent." 

Gratiano groaned aloud. 

"Oh, rash vow!" he complained. "What issues are 
at stake here? If the choice — if the choice " 



NERISSA MAKES CONDITIONS 223 

Then natural optimism overcame bitter dread. 

' 'If," he whispered, "the choice is happy, and Bas- 
sanio weds the Lady Portia? " 

. .The dimples flashed over his companion's face, though 
she answered demurely. 

"Why, Signior, I have vowed to make a double bridal 
of it, if so be I do not have to sing 'hey nonny' for^a 
groom." 

And thus far Gratiano was forced to be content. 



SOI 
me 



CHAPTER XXIII 

THE CHOICE 

* * C^ I go to find fortune or disaster. You'll wish 
me well, Gratiano?" 

With all my heart, Bassanio." 

The two young men gripped hands, then in silence 
turned towards the marble staircase which led down to 
the great hall, where Portia already awaited them, with 
Nerissa by her side, and the usual throng of attendants 
in the background. 

It seemed fitting that the destiny of so fair and wealthy 
a lady should be chosen with due pomp and state, 
though in this case the aspiring bridegroom came very 
slenderly attended. 

Yet he made a gallant figure as he stepped forward, 
the white cloth cloak worn only on great occasions flung 
back over one shoulder, jewels sparkling at his collar 
and upon his sword hilt. Portia herself was a veritable 
queen in crimson velvet gown broidered most gorgeously 
with delicate needlework, long sleeves of gold tissue 
hanging loose from her shoulders, the under sleeves of 
soft embroidered satin. Her long veil floated to the 
hem of her dress and she carried a fan of ostrich feathers. 

A prize indeed — to be won or lost this day. 

No wonder Bassanio's heart beat till its throbs threat- 
ened to suffocate him. 

Low he bowed over the lady's hand after one swift 
glance into her flushed and lovely face. 

(224) 



THE CHOICE 225 

"You are prepared," she whispered, "to take an 
oath which binds you to perpetual bachelorhood if you 
lose me?" 

"I am well prepared/' he answered, in the same low 
tones. "Since if I lose you I shall never desire another 
woman for my wife." 

She sighed, tears filling her blue eyes. At the moment 
she could only read tragedy into her father's decree. 

Gratiano had moved to Nerissa's side. He was a far 
gayer figure than his friend, since, not belonging to the 
nobili, he was not restricted as to dress, and wore doublet 
and cloak of turquoise color with hose of white and 
yellow. 

Nerissa had no words for him — but her eyes were as 
tender as they were anxious, showing how much she too 
staked on this venture. 

"Let me come to my fortune and the caskets," urged 
Bassanio, seeing a certain reluctance on his lady's part. 

She took his offered hand, signing to her servants to 
precede them, and thus allowed Bassanio to lead her to 
the dais-like seat where she had so often sat of late 
with very different hopes and fears animating her breast. 

"While he makes his choice let music sound," she 
commanded old Florio. "Silence is terrible whilst we 
sit or stand around, holding our breaths in fear, too numb 
for prayer. In music, if he fails — Bassanio must not 
fail — but if he does he makes a swan-like end, fading in 
music. Whilst if he wins, what so befitting as sweet 
strains heralding the king new-crowned, who turns to 
meet the homage of his servants?" 

Tears and laughter were on the speaker's face, her 
little hands clasped passionately upon her knee, where 
lay her fan. She could not look towards Bassanio at 

15 



226 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

first as he approached the table from before which the 
curtains had been drawn back. 

At her desire soft strains of music, played by unseen 
musicians, filled the room and a child's sweet treble 
sounded clear and lute-like from the adjoining balcony. 

Portia turned her head, gazing dim-eyed towards 
the window, through the open casement of which the 
music drifted in. 

Tell me where is fancy bred, 
Or in the heart, or in the head? 
How begot, how nourished? 

It is engendered in the eyes, 
With gazing fed ; and fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies; 
Let us all ring fancy's knell; 
I'll begin it — Ding, dong, bell, 
Ding . . . dong . . . bell. 

The last echoes sounded faintly. The music was 
hushed. Portia di Nerlini was leaning forward now, 
her fan unheeded at her feet; one hand gripped the gilt 
side of her chair, the other supported her chin as she 
rested her elbow on her knee. She was unconscious that 
the music had ceased, unconscious that her servants 
stood around watching with curious gaze, unconscious 
that little Nerissa had turned aside and instinctively 
clasped her lover's hands as though seeking encourage- 
ment in their close pressure; all Portia saw or under- 
stood was that the man who held her heart and had 
yielded her the treasure of his own, stood there faced 
by a dead man's irrevocable decree. From casket to 
casket Bassanio moved, neither irresolute nor halting, 
though it was plain he communed inwardly with himself. 




"Here choose I. Joy be the consequence." 



THE CHOICE 227 

He had passed by the golden casket, though long had 
he halted there, seeing the glittering ornament of the 
precious metal for which since the world's foundation 
men had risked their lives in vain service. 

He would not, however, be deceived by outward seem- 
ing. The food of Midas, hard, inexorable gold, was 
little to him in such a search. Nor would he look long 
on the paler luster of the silver casket, but laid a firm 
hand upon the unattractive casket of lead. 

"Here choose I," said he simply. "Joy be the 
consequence." 

But Portia had sunk back into her chair, her face 
covered by her hands as though a sudden flare of sun- 
shine had dazzled her, whilst Nerissa was weeping with 
her pretty face hidden against Gratiano's shoulder. 

So joy at times counterfeits pain in her expression. 
Hardly had Bassanio raised the lid of the leaden casket 
than Portia at least had recovered from that first over- 
mastering ecstasy of joy. 

With clasped hands she leaned forward, light and 
laughter transforming the anxious woman to the very 
embodiment of girlish happiness. He had won! He 
had won! And the crowning joy of happiness was 
theirs. 

Her pulses throbbed in tumultuous glee, the color 
ebbed and flowed in her cheeks, her eyes were as the 
heavens on a spring morning. 

As for Bassanio, he had scarcely realized his good 
fortune yet, though in his hand he held a portrait which 
should instantly have told him the truth. 

" Portia," he whispered, as pictured eyes looked up 
in shy innocence to his. "Fair Portia's counterfeit. 
Her very self. Why, the eyes have her trick of smiling 



228 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

to the life, and here in her hairs the painter plays the 
spider; weaving a golden mesh to entrap the hearts 
of men, faster than gnats in cobwebs. But her eyes! 
How could he see to do them? Having made one, 
methinks, it should have power to steal both his and 
leave itself unfurnished. Yet how poor my praise for 
such an object, and how poor an object in comparison 
with its living substance! And here's the scroll to 
acquaint me with my fortune." 

Drawing a deep breath, the impatient lover unrolled 
the parchment, and turning for the first time towards 
Portia, read aloud its brief contents: 

You that choose not by the view, 
Chance as fair, and choose as true ! 
Since this fortune falls to you, 
Be content, and seek no more. 
If you be well pleas'd by this, 
And hold your fortune for your bliss, 
Turn you where your lady is, 
And claim her with a loving kiss. 

The scroll was laid aside, and Bassanio, flushed and 
eager, wholly oblivious of the many gazers, came straight 
to his lady's side. 

H d She had risen to meet him, an answering flame in her 
beautiful eyes; and so they stood, like children too 
bewildered by their happiness to know at first how to 
take it for their own. 

Then Bassanio's hands went out, clasping those so 
ready to find shelter in his grasp. 

"Is it true?" he asked, in an oddly choked voice, 
never having realized the full horror of his fears till he 
saw them vanish into oblivion. "Am I so blessed? 



THE CHOICE 229 

Thrice fair lady, I cannot believe this great good fortune 
until you confirm it with your own sweet lips." 

He saw those same red lips, parted in dewy fragrance, 
mutely echoing the invitation of the written scroll, and 
without more ado stooped, thus sealing that strange 
betrothal. 

One by one the attendants moved away, filing through 
the door, whilst the heavy velvet curtain fell in place 
behind Florio, the last to go saving only Gratiano and 
Nerissa, who, intent on their own affairs, had moved 
towards the balcony. 

"My lady," whispered Bassanio, and looked so deep 
into the blue depths of her eyes that surely he must 
have learned all their owner's secrets, so there was no 
need for the question a lover never tires of asking. 

"You love me?" 

She leaned towards him. "Do I not, my lord?" she 
murmured. "Cannot you answer me?" 

He laughed very softly, with the reverence of one 
who laughs for joy in the sacred precincts of a church. 

"I am giddy with happiness. Dazed by sudden for- 
tune," he confessed. "So that till you tell me all the 
tale of your love I cannot believe it. Words are empty 
things. Thus I say, 'Portia di Nerlini is my promised 
wife. To-day I have won her by a fortunate choice.' 
Yet that tells me little of my happiness. So teach me, 
gentle lady, so that I may believe and enter into the 
kingdom of your heart." 

She laughed, a little tremulous laugh, no longer the 
stately lady of Belmont, who had awed so many a 
greedy suitor for her wealth, but the young girl, all 
innocent of the great world, ignorant too of many 
things save the secret of her heart. 



230 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"You see me, Lord Bassanio," she said, standing 
so close that his arm stole naturally about her slender 
waist, "here where I stand, such as I am. For myself 
I would not be ambitious. Yet for your sake, whom I 
love so well, I would be a thousand times more fair, 
ten thousand times more rich, exceeding in virtues, 
beauties, friends, all that I am or have — for you, because 
I am yours. And yet you take me as I am, an un- 
lessoned girl, unschooled, unpractised; happy in this, 
that I am not too old to learn. Happier too in not 
being too dull of wit to learn, and happiest of all in 
committing myself to your care, my governor and 
king, to whom I and all I have belong. Till now, see, 
Bassanio, I was lord of this mansion, master of my ser- 
vants, queen over myself. But now this house, these 
servants and this same myself are yours, my lord. 
I give them with this ring, which, when you part from, 
lose or give away, I shall know that Bassanio has no 
more love to bestow upon his Portia." 

So she spoke, pride, which so many had been wont 
to condemn in her, abased, self-humbled before the 
shrine of love. 

Being of a generous nature she showed it now by 
such sweet humility that would not let this dear lover 
feel the shame of being her pensioner, looking to the 
bounty of her wealth on which to live. 

Knowing his poverty and straitened circumstances, 
she gave royally, kneeling as a subject to bestow her 
crown. And never herself more truly regal than in her 
self-abnegation. 

Womanhood crowned! So stood she in her sweet 
perfection before the man whose great love grew to 
something akin to worship as she showed him more 
clearly the value of his prize. 






THE CHOICE 231 

Could he answer her? Could he tell her that if he 
were king she must be empress-queen, reigning forever 
in his heart? 

Words were so poor and weak in such an ecstasy. 
Life's cup brimming with a surfeit of happiness so 
that he became dumb for lack of adequate language. 

So together they stood, locked in a close embrace, 
apart, aloof from all the world, their eyes telling each 
other of joy transcendent. 

Then Bassanio spoke. 

"Lady," he whispered, as he set the ring with its 
single splendid sapphire upon his finger, "I cannot 
show you all my heart, nay, not in a lifetime of devotion. 
But this you shall know, if this ring parts from this 
finger you shall be certain that Bassanio is dead. No 
enemy but death shall rob me of so fair a gift." 

Slowly their arms unclasped — since one cannot stay 
forever in that seventh heaven where none may dare 
intrude; and in turning, they found Nerissa close beside 
them, with Gratiano holding her hand as though he 
feared to lose her. 

Nerissa's piquant face was bright with smiles, and 
be sure she was spokeswoman! 

"My lord and lady," she cried, "it is now our turn 
that have stood by and seen our wishes prosper, to cry 
good joy. Good joy, my lord and lady!" 

Portia laughed, and pulling the girl to her side, kissed 
her very kindly. 

"My lord and my gentle lady," repeated Gratiano, 
slyly gay, yet withal a trifle sheepish too, as men are on 
such occasion of speech-making, "I wish you all the joy 
that you can wish; for I am sure you can wish none 
from me. And may I ask when you mean to solemnize 



232 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

this marriage, which is in the making? For, by your 
leave, I should like to wed at the same time." 

Bassanio struck him a merry blow on the back. 

"With all my heart, friend," cried he, "if you can 
get a wife." 

And he looked with some amusement towards Nerissa 
who was whispering secrets in her lady's ear. 

"I thank you," retorted Gratiano, with whimsical 
humor. "You yourself have got me one. My eyes, 
Bassanio, can look as swift as yours. You saw the mis- 
tress — I beheld the maid. You loved — I loved. In 
more still we were alike. Your fortune stood upon the 
caskets there. And so did mine. For in wooing and 
swearing devotion — till my very roof was dry with oaths 
of love — at last I got a promise of this fair one here to 
have her love if you won that of her mistress and her 
mistress's self." 

Bassanio held his sides with laughter. 

Per Bacco! It was good to laugh now, be free to 
laugh, knowing the world was good, love better and 
Portia best and dearest of all. 

So he could find jest in hearing how past anxieties 
had been shared by this anxious friend, since now love 
and happiness rang joy bells all around. 

"Is this true, Nerissa?" asked Portia, her own fair 
face mirroring her lord's merriment. 

Nerissa hung her head, though no whit abashed. 

"Madam, it is," she confessed; "so you stand pleased 
withal." 

"And do you, Gratiano," demanded Basssanio, with 
much gravity, "mean good faith?" 

He had heard of certain merry escapades on his 
friend's part in Venice. 



THE CHOICE 233 

"Why, yes, indeed," quoth the latter, with much 
fervor, taking his sweetheart's hand. 

"Well then," cried Bassanio heartily, "our feast shall 
be much honored by your marriage; and of this same 
marriage and its fixing we must talk, sweet, presently, 
when you walk with me in the garden." 

He took his lady's hand, for though vastly pleased 
by the tale of these other loves, his own had first place 
in his mind, whilst yet the wonder of it was on him. 

So, leaving the others to follow at their pleasure, he 
led Portia towards the balcony and thence to the garden, 
where shaded paths tempted lovers' confidences and 
promised coveted seclusion from unwelcome interrupt- 
tion. 

Yet, alas for selfish desire! since scarcely had they 
reached the spot where a mighty ilex stood sentinel to 
a wilderness walk than Portia called her companion's 
attention to two distant figures which approached the 
mansion up the long avenue. 

Bassanio, none too pleased, shaded his eyes against 
the slanting rays of sunlight, than gave a low exclama- 
tion of surprise. 

"If I be not deceived," quoth he, "it is one Lorenzo 
Fortunato, a friend of mine, sweet Portia, and his wife, 
a Jewess named Jessica — and a very gentle lady." 



CHAPTER XXIV 

AN ILL-OMENED MESSENGER 

BASSANIO'S guess had been correct; it was 
Lorenzo Fortunato himself who came towards 
them across the lawns, whilst his companion, so 
closely veiled that her features could not be seen, halted 
under an acacia tree as though her courage had failed — 
or mayhap fearing that her presence might not be 
welcome. 

Lorenzo seemed to possess far less of his customary 
swagger, and whilst he bowed very low before the lady 
of Belmont, he regarded Bassanio with an interrogatory 
glance which sought to read the riddle of the other's 
mind and know whether he had been presumptuous in 
taking advantage of a casual invitation. 

But Bassanio's greeting quickly dispelled all doubts. 

"Why, good Lorenzo," he cried, taking the other's 
hand in his own. "We meet at Belmont in a happy 
hour. Welcome hither. Sweet Portia, you see I take 
your office in bidding a guest welcome to your home 
with no other introduction than that he is my friend." 

Portia di Nerlini came forward, a very gracious lady, 
Lorenzo thought, as he bowed again. 

"You are indeed welcome, Signior," she said gently, 
one hand slipped within the curve of Bassanio's arm, "as 
all my lord's friends shall be in this his home. He says 
truly that you come in a happy hour since already we 
think of preparations for a speedy marriage. We shall 
hope to keep you with us to witness your friend's " 

(234) 



AN ILL-OMENED MESSENGER 235 

"Most unmerited happiness," added Bassanio, kissing 
her with lover-like ardor. "As this gentleman will 
understand, being, as I guess, newly wed himself. You 
shall beg your lady, Lorenzo, to allow us the honor of 
her acquaintance. Ah, but here she comes, brought by 
a kindly friend." 

Gratiano and Nerissa had approached the shy 
stranger, who had been seized by a fit of sudden ner- 
vousness, feeling herself alien amongst these fine friends 
of her husband. 

But shyness could not be long retained under Nerissa 's 
sunny influence, and Jessica had already been persuaded 
to draw aside her suffocating veil and allow her dark, 
beautiful face to be seen. 

Portia advanced at once to meet her, her simple 
friendliness chasing away all the stranger's fears of the 
lady who had appeared so magnificent and imposing at 
a distance. 

"You are weary, poor child," said Portia kindly. 
"Nerissa, you shall take her within doors presently, for 
I wager sleep has been stranger this long time from her 
eyes." 

But Jessica shook her head, shrinking back to her 
husband's side. 

"Indeed, madam, I am not weary," she confessed, 
"only — only afraid, lest you might have refused us 
asylum." 

Her dark eyes were haunted by swift fear as she 
glanced up at Lorenzo, who, with one arm protectingly 
about her, asked leave to tell his tale. 

"Why, most certainly," cried Portia. "We are most 
eager to hear, and if you will neither eat nor sleep at 
present, let us rest and listen to what I do not doubt 
will prove to have been strange adventures." 



236 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"In sooth I'll wager that," added Bassanio, as he 
followed with the others to where, under a wide- 
branched tree, seats were invitingly spread with cushions 
and brightly-striped rugs. 

Very briefly Lorenzo related, for the benefit of the 
Lady of Belmont, the story of how he and Jessica had 
stolen away from Venice, and without more adventures 
than their fears engendered at the thought of pursuit, 
they reached Genoa, where the priest, whose services 
Lorenzo had before engaged, was awaiting them. 

This Father Lawrence had first baptized Jessica into 
the Christian faith before wedding her to the eager 
lover. Then, because Genoa seemed a fair city to them, 
and their happiness complete, they had lingered there 
week after week, merry as children newly escaped from 
the discipline of school. Never in all her secluded life 
in the old corner house of Venice had Jessica dreamed of 
all the glittering splendor of life beyond, and Lorenzo had 
never tired of waking new wonder in the dark eyes of his 
little bride. 

But alas! The dream was rudely dispelled on the day 
when Lorenzo returned home to the vine-clad inn, where 
Monna Bianca, the plump, kindly landlady, had moth- 
ered his child- wife since her first coming to Genoa, and 
brought the news that Aaron Tubal was in the city. 

Jessica had remained indoors all next day, trembling 
and anxious because Lorenzo so long delayed his return. 
She knew something of TubaPs fierce humor, and also 
that her father had promised her to this friend of his in 
marriage. 

Somehow Genoa no longer appeared a place of sun- 
shine and laughter, but full of mournful dirges and ill 
omen. At last Lorenzo came, tried to kiss away the 






AN ILL-OMENED MESSENGER 237 

many terrors on a small, pale face, but finally confessed 
that from what he had gleaned of one and another, 
Tubal was ransacking the city in search of them, nor 
did there seem any doubt as to his temper. 

"Let us go," Jessica had entreated, clinging to her 
young husband. "He is a very terrible man. He will 
perhaps kill you and then there is nothing but death 
before me." 

It was then that Lorenzo had remembered Bassanio's 
laughing invitation to Belmont; and, desperate though 
it was, had determined to come and beg asylum here 
till the search for his wife had abated. Perhaps later 
he would be able to settle in Padua or Verona, in both 
of which towns he possessed friends. He did not sug- 
gest Venice, yet Bassanio, seeing the shadow on his 
merry face, guessed that this light-hearted friend felt his 
exile keenly, whilst Portia, looking from one to the 
other, was convinced that the groom counted all well 
lost for the sake of such a bride. 

It was a romance such as could not fail to appeal 
to any woman's heart, and when Lorenzo had finished 
with many expressions of gratitude for the generous wel- 
come they had not dared to hope for, Portia took 
Jessica's hand, kissing her dark cheek again, telling her 
that neither she nor her husband need have any more 
fears. 

"You shall both remain here so long as you choose," 
she promised, "and we shall be glad of your company, 
my lord and I." 

Whereupon she looked across to Bassanio, who was 
regarding her with tenderest affection, noting her kind- 
ness to this stranger. 

It was Lorenzo who put the diffident question regard- 






238 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

ing his friend's fortune, and was told the tale of how 
that very day had been witness to Bassanio's happiness. 

The story of the caskets was retold by those who 
sat beneath the trees there on the peaceful lawns, whilst 
twilight crept in gray beauty over a fair scene, and 
Portia would have risen, declaring it to be time to 
return to the palazzo and prepare for supper, had not 
the appearance of Florio on the terrace changed the 
current of their thoughts. 

The old steward bowed low before his mistress — since 
these were early days to grow accustomed to the pres- 
ence of a new lord. 

"A messenger from Venice, Signora," he averred, 
"on very urgent business to my Lord Bassanio." 

The name brought recollection in the utterance, and 
Florio made up for neglect by many bows in Bassanio's 
direction. 

Jessica drew closer to Portia's side. 

"It may be Tubal," she breathed fearfully. "Before 
now he will have returned to Venice and may have 
guessed of our coming here." 

"What name gave the messenger?" asked Bassanio, 
fingering the dagger in his girdle. 

Again Florio bowed. 

"Messer Salarino, an' it please you, illustrious," he 
replied. 

Bassanio started. "Salarino!" he echoed in surprise. 
" Santa Maria ! What brings the merchant from Venice? 
I hope it bodes no ill for Antonio. I beseech you bring 
him hither without loss of time." 

"You see," whispered Portia to Jessica, "there is no 
reason for your fears. This messenger is known to my 
Lord Bassanio." 



AN ILL-OMENED MESSENGER 239 

"Known well indeed," replied the latter. "But what 
can he want here? Has he come — too late — to discover 
the secret of the caskets?" 

He smiled whimsically at Portia as he spoke, but the 
smile could not hide the deeper anxiety of his eyes, nor 
did he really suppose the sedate Salarino to have come 
on any such errand. 

. The group on the lawn sat or stood together watching 
the pompous Florio escort the visitor towards them with 
due ceremony. 

Bassanio went forward to meet one who was merely 
his friend since he was that of Antonio. 

"Your hand, amico," said he genially, contriving to 
cry down the growing fear which sight of Salarino 's 
grave face quickened within him. 

" What's the news from Venice? How doth that 
royal merchant, good Antonio? I know he will be glad 
to hear of our success. We are the Jasons — we have 
won the fleece." 

Salarino bowed to the seated ladies, grasped hands 
with Gratiano, and after a few brief words of congrat- 
ulations, turned, gloomy-eyed, to Bassanio. 

" Would you had won the fleece that Antonio hath 
lost," he replied, handing the other a sealed parchment. 

Bassanio hastily broke the seal, moving apart from 
the rest, as, with trembling fingers, he unrolled the scroll 
of paper. 

Gratiano, paying small heed to Salarino's grave man- 
ner, took the latter by the elbow, chatting gayly of how 
he had lighted on a bridal group. To Gratiano the 
world was a golden arcadia just now, all piping, dancing, 
kissing and vowing of devotion. 

But Portia had risen and was moving towards her 
lover. 



240 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"See," she urged, looking back towards her com- 
panions. "There is ill news indeed in that paper. 
How pale Bassanio grows! All color drained from his 
cheeks! Alack! This must be tidings of some dear 
friend's death. Poor Bassanio, a black death on a 
golden eve. This is sad, indeed." 

She reached Bassanio's side, taking his arm. 

"With leave, dear lord," she whispered, in tenderest 
sympathy. "Will you not tell me your trouble, since I 
am half yourself to share sorrow and joy together?" 

He looked at her, too dazed at first for her comfort to 
reach him, whilst slowly he raised his hand to his fore- 
head, pushing back his cap and wiping aside the beads 
of sweat which had gathered on his brow. 

"Sweet Portia," he stammered. "Ah, dear, this is ill 
news indeed. The cruelest words that ever blotted 
paper though penned by a hand of love. Gentle lady, 
do you recall how, when I first confessed my love to 
you, I told you frankly that I was very poor? All that 
I could claim was nobility of birth. I am a noble of 
Venice — but that is sum and total of all my possessions." 

"What matter?" replied Portia gently. "Since I am 
rich and all I have is yours." 

He took her hand, raising it to his lips. 

"Alas!" he sighed, "there is more to tell. I should 
have told you I was worse than nothing. I am in debt, 
lady. Worse still. My friend, to furnish me with the 
ducats to come hither, bound himself to — to a Jew. 
That Jew is Jessica's father. Another time you shall 
learn what he is besides; how lost to all semblance 
of humanity in his lust for as foul a vengeance as ever 
was conceived by a man. Oh, the agony of this! It 
stuns me with its swift horror. Antonio in danger. 



AN ILL-OMENED MESSENGER 241 

Antonio ruined. Antonio in prison for my sake. 
Antonio in danger of a bloody death." 

The speaker wrung his hands, tears filled his eyes, he 
was so totally unstrung that he scarcely knew what he 
said or did. 

Even Portia was powerless to soothe such grief, and 
as she listened to the explanation which Bassanio gave, 
her own cheeks paled and her blue eyes dilated with 
horror. 

Bassanio turned feverishly to Salarino. 

"Is it true, Salarino?" he cried. "Is it true? Have 
all our poor Antonio's ventures failed? What! — not 
one hit? From Tripolis, from Mexico and England? 
From Lisbon, Barbary and India — and not one vessel 
escaped shipwreck or the pirates?" 

Salarino shook his head. 

"Alas! not one," he replied. "Besides, I fear if he 
now had the money to discharge the Jew, the latter 
would not take it. He seems to have a rancorous hate 
against Antonio, which sees the light now that he counts 
to have him in his power. Never has a man been 
known to be so keen and greedy in seizing on his victim. 
Night and day he haunts the Ducal Palace, crying for 
justice, railing that if he does not get it, he impeaches 
the freedom of the state. None in Venice can talk or 
think of an)i:hing but this business which seems unique 
in its character." 

"But something must be done," cried Bassanio, strik- 
ing his hands fiercely together. "The Duke could not 
permit the iniquity of this bond's fulfilment — to hack 
the life from an honored and reputed citizen in payment 
of a bond which Shylock himself mocked at as a pleasant 
jest." 

16 



242 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"He does not term it so now/' retorted Salarino 
grimly. "The fellow is like nothing but a lean gray 
wolf, which howls about a lonesome house during winter 
nights. He'll have his bond, he cries, defying all Venice 
to rob him of his due." 

"Have any tried to persuade him?" asked Portia. 
"Have they shown him the uselessness of such revenge?" 

Salarino bowed. "Why," quoth he, "for that matter 
all Venice has been at the task of 'suasion. A deputa- 
tion of twenty merchants waited on him. His only 
answer was, 'I claim my bond.' The magnincoes of 
greatest port urged mercy and a more human spirit — he 
would have none of either. The Duke himself tried to 
argue with him. 'My bond — and justice,' was all the 
answer. It is that bond — or rather Antonio's life — for 
which he alone appears to thirst." 

All shuddered as they listened to the hideous tale. 
Whilst Jessica raised her veil to speak. 

"When — I was with him," she faltered, "I have 
heard him swear to Tubal and Chus, his countrymen, 
that he would rather have Antonio's flesh than twenty 
times the value of the sum he owed him." 

Silence followed this speech. 

It was to all those who stood on that shadowed lawn 
as though they gazed upon some fearful picture where 
the hand of genius portrayed hate personified, a deep 
and treasured hate which has waited long and patiently 
for fulfilment. 

At last Portia spoke. 

"What sum owes he the Jew?" 

Bassanio raised a haggard face to hers. 

"Three thousand ducats," he muttered, "borrowed 
for me. Three thousand ducats." His chin sank for- 



AN ILL-OMENED MESSENGER 243 

ward on his breast. This grief was greater than he 
could bear. 

Love and despair for this closest, dearest friend even 
obscured the bright dream of love which had come so 
near to fulfilment to-day. 

Portia leaned forward, touching his arm. 

"You love him?" she asked softly. 

"Love him!" Bassanio's laugh was bitter. "He is 
the dearest friend to me," he goaned, "the kindest man, 
the noblest spirit that ever breathed. When yet did 
Antonio think of himself? Never, I fancy. Always of 
others, always for others he spends himself, his life, his 
substance. The only reason he possesses this enemy is 
because he took too much pity on the victims of greedy 
avarice. Three thousand ducats! How should they 
weigh against the life of an Antonio?" 

"Pay the Jew six thousand," cried Portia, her face 
flushing, her eyes kindling. "Double six thousand and 
then treble that, before a friend of this description shall 
lose a hair through Bassanio's fault. You shall have 
gold, dear lord, to pay the petty debt twenty times 
over. When it is paid bring your true friend along — 
that he may be your wife's friend too." 

Bassanio caught her outstretched hands, pressing 
them to his heart. 

"Sweetest of ladies," he murmured, "how can I thank 
you for this generous love? It is true I must go to 
Venice. See, shall I read you this letter which claims 
that necessity? So will you find unselfish sacrifice an 
easier thing." 

"There is no sacrifice in speeding you to such a 
duty," replied Portia. "Yet, read me his letter, for I 
would know all I may of such a man as this Antonio." 



244 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Bassanio unrolled the parchment, reading the con- 
tents in a voice which halted and grew husky with 
emotion. 

"Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried, my 
creditors grow cruel, my estate is very low, my bond to 
the Jew is forfeit; and since, in paying it, it is impos- 
sible I should live, all debts are cleared between you and 
me. Yet — if I might but see you at my death: notwith- 
standing, use your pleasure; if your love do not persuade 
you to come, let not my letter." 

Tears stood in Portia di Nerlini's eyes as she listened. 
Nerissa was sobbing in helpless, tender-hearted fashion, 
whilst Jessica sat, shamed beyond expression, as though 
she were some leper amongst these others, since she 
must call Shylock the Jew her father. 

"Listen, Bassanio," quoth Portia very gravely. 
"First let us go to church, where you shall wed with 
me — Gratiano with his Nerissa; and from the church's 
door we'll speed you on your way to Venice. Save your 
friend, if that be possible, then return, both of you, to 
claim those who shall be praying for your good success." 

Bassanio bowed his head. 

"If you will do this, and let me so play my part, "he 
whispered, "be sure there'll be no tarrying by the way, 
sweet Portia. Let me but call you wife and save Antonio, 
I do not think the world will know a happier man than 
your Bassanio." 

"Saving one Gratiano," whispered the latter in 
Nerissa's ear. "Tell me, sweet, are you as ever obedient 
to your mistress' will?" 

And Nerissa, smiling through her tears, gave mute 
assent. 



CHAPTER XXV 

STEPHANO GOES TO PADUA 

Cf 1 I"E has gone/' murmured Portia, and sighed as 
she looked out upon the velvet darkness of 
A -*■ the night, "but he will return." 

Looking up into the mysterious vault of the curtained 
skies she saw a star, and smiled the rapt smile of 
one whose heart sings an unworded psalm. For the 
time she had forgotten Antonio and threatened tragedy. 
Only she remembered that her prayers had been an- 
swered, and Love, bright- winged and eagle-eyed, stood 
on the threshold of her life. 

After all, her father had been wise — or had it been 
some clearer inspiration conceived in the chill atmosphere 
of death which gazed beyond to where all things lie 
plainly discerned in futurity? 

Had he known that he should give her love, shielding 
her from all spurious imitations such as fifty suitors had 
offered at her feet? 

Love! She thought of the men who had come and 
gone, men of various nationalities, aspirations, ambitions, 
who had vowed their vows, pleaded their faith and gone, 
unregretted by the woman whose fortune they came to 
win. 

She shuddered as she thought of the importunate 
wooing of Niccolo Grimani, and how nearly he had cap- 
tured her by unknightly fraud and scheming. It was 
then that she saw her Bassanio — the gallant hero of every 

(245) 



246 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

maid's dreams — come to her in the flesh, to be loved as 
soon as seen, to woo and win her as no maid had hereto- 
fore been won; and to leave her at her own command 
on the day which had seen her betrothal and wedding, 
to perform a duty claimed by friendship's bond. Aye! 
and a double bond it seemed, since but for Antonio her 
Bassanio — brought low by extravagance confessed — 
would have lacked the means to come to her, and in 
coming, save her from an ignoble thief, to be — his own 
dear wife. 

No wonder Portia smiled as she watched that star, 
which shone down so clearly with its golden beam to 
touch and stir her heart. 

Love! Yes, it was hers — and she at last was rich, who 
before in the midst of wealth had deemed herself poor. 

Then she sighed, growing sad as she drooped her 
head over folded hands. 

Could she laugh whilst her lord wept? Smile when he 
grieved? 

And supposing this friend should die — killed by the 
crudest vengeance ever conceived by human brain? 
Antonio was Bassanio 's dearest friend, worthy of all 
loving regard. She felt him to be so, judging him by his 
friendship, and a sudden wrath rose in her heart against 
this Shylock who had so marred the perfection of her 
wedding day. 

If she could but save Antonio! If she could but 
bring gladness in place of despair to her Bassanio! 

All her woman's wit, her courage and that daring 
which had strengthened in her during the past months 
of a difficult independence and loneliness rose to help 
Portia di Nerlini in her dreaming. 

And what a dream it was! Fantastic — shadowy at 



STEPHANO GOES TO PADUA 247 

first, bringing reluctance to combat impetuosity, hesi- 
tancy to cling to the skirts of rash urging, but gradually 
a definite purpose growing out of the chaos, whilst 
tightening lips, lurking laughter and the erect poise of a 
proud little head told that what Portia di Nerlini had 
resolved on finally would not easily be relinquished. 
And she told herself the dream should become reality. 
Was there then any question of drawing back? 

"There is no time," whispered the girl very softly 
to herself, "no time for deliberation, no time to look 
this way and that, questioning of expediency, maidenly 
modesty, all those warring tales which would hold a 
maid back from the swift prompting of a purpose. 
Blessed St. Ursula guide me in this! — since it is for the 
salvation of one man and love of another. For Bassanio, 
known and loved. For Antonio, unknown, but deeply 
reverenced. Come, I'll think no more — but act — as 
I think Bassanio my husband would wish me." 

She laughed softly, not rebuking herself this time for 
undue levity, whilst, striking a bell which stood on a 
table near, she summoned a servant. 

"Bid Stephano speak with me," she commanded 
peremptorily, and the woman hurried away wondering 
as to her mistress' pleasure. 

Meantime, Portia awaited the coming of a trusted 
messenger with impatience. Like most women she was 
inclined to rush at all enterprises without due reflection, 
fretting till her purpose was accomplished. 

But in this case there was excuse for her restlessness, 
since haste was necessary to her design. 

Not that Stephano kept her long waiting, and his 
mistress, beckoning him forward, bade him come near, 
since she would entrust him with a service which was 
very private. 



248 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Stephano, a straight-limbed young Italian, clad 
in the dark blue livery of the Nerlinis, bowed low. 
Like the rest of the servants he was devoted to his beauti- 
ful mistress for whom he would gladly have laid down 
his life. 

"Attend very carefully to my instructions, good 
Stephano/' commanded the Lady Portia kindly. "I 
have ever found thee honest, true and faithful ; let me 
find thee so still. Here is a letter. Guard it carefully, 
and with all possible despatch hasten to Padua. Thou 
wilt be ready to start within the hour?" 

The Italian's black eyes flashed. "I shall be on my 
way when I leave your presence, noble Signora," he 
replied quietly. 

" Good. I can trust thee, Stephano, to use all possible 
despatch, since not only the life of a man but much of thy 
mistress' happiness depends upon it; and when thou 
hast reached Padua seek out the house of my cousin, Dr. 
Bellario. Give this packet into his hand. He will give 
thee his answer together with notes and garments. 
Attend carefully to his instructions and bring all he gives 
thee to the inn which stands close to the common ferry 
trading with Venice. Thou knowest the place?" 

Stephano colored. "Yes, lady," he replied. "It 
is known as the sign of the ' Golden Fig.' " 

Portia smiled, for she guessed that the fellow's con- 
fusion could have been explained by the fact that Monna 
Francesca — though a widow of three years' standing — 
was as pretty as many a sly-eyed contadina who took 
her fruits and vegetables across the ferry to the market 
places of Venice. 

"Do not forget all that I bid you," she repeated, "for 
indeed it is very urgent, and I would have you thinking 



STEPHANO GOES TO PADUA 249 

more of the illustrious Signior Bellario's messages than 
the chances of Monna Francesca being kind." 

Whereat Stephano blushed still more furiously, vowing 
that a dozen Francescas, nay, a hundred! could not 
possess the power of misdirecting a thought which should 
be given to duty. 

"Why, then, you're a very Stoic," smiled his mistress, 
"or do not know what a will-o'-the-wisp of torment 
true love may be. Heigho! How wise one can grow in 
a day!" 

She laughed gayly, bidding Stephano begone. 

"Swiftness, discretion and a speedy meeting with me 
at the ' Golden Fig,' with full weight of directions from 
the Signor Bellario, will win thee a golden guerdon of 
thanks, good knave," said she, with so much winning 
grace that Stephano thought of nothing but pleasing 
so sweet a lady, as he hurried forth on that midnight 
errand, which in those days of insecure and bandit- 
fested roads was by no means an easy one. 

Portia, left alone once more, drew a heavy breath, as 
one who having taken a daring plunge or leap, looks 
back wondering at her own temerity. 

The messenger was sent. Would she have called him 
back? Not she! Too much hung on the issue of this 
adventure which she would undertake for love's sake. 

"You called me, lady?" 

The door closed softly upon Nerissa, who stole forward 
to her mistress' side. 

Portia stretched out her hand and pulled the girl 
down to the stool by her side. 

"If so," she replied, "it was my heart, for indeed I 
crave the company of a friend." 

Nerissa laid her hands on the other's lap, bending 



250 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

forward so that the eyes of the two girls sought and found 
an answering gaze. 

"The Signior Lorenzo and his wife have retired 
already?" asked the maid. 

Portia nodded. 

"Else, I had not left my guests?" said she. "They 
were very weary, so weary that little Jessica could 
scarcely keep her lids apart for all her efforts. I think 
they were glad to go to their rest undisturbed by the 
ghosts of any avenging pursuers. Indeed, I am sorry 
for the Jewess; she is sweet and gentle, loving too. Nor 
do I blame her for finding happiness by such daring 
means." 

"She has found a loving husband in the venture, 
lady." 

"I do not doubt it. As for this Tubal whom the gin 
fears so much, he will not think of Belmont, nor dare 
come hither even if he thinks of it as a possible asylum. 
So we will keep our pretty love-birds here, Nerissa — 
for kindness' sake as well as because Lorenzo is Bassanio's 
friend." 

A smile rippled over Nerissa's piquant face. 

"Ah, lady," murmured the maid, "little did we dream 
that the choice of caskets would bring such happiness." 

"True. It was as you first said, child, an inspiration 
whispered in my father's ear by some guardian-angel. 
Yet, because I'm foolish, I shudder even now, torturing 
myself by such thoughts as these. ' Supposing one of 
those other grasping suitors had seized the leaden casket 
in choice ' — or — ' Supposing my lord Bassanio had picked 
the one of gold.' " 

"Have no such fears, dear lady. Are you not wed 
already? It is not a dream that the Signior Bassanio 



STEPHANO GOES TO PADUA 251 

placed that ring upon your finger whilst Gratiano set this 
upon mine. It is no dream that they wear our rings in 
change. It is no dream that we lately stood within 
the chapel near whilst Fra Angelo laid our hands in those 
of our dear lords and loves — giving us each to each." 

Portia sighed. 

"'Was ever such betrothal or such wedding planned?" 
she reiterated. "And scarcely had their clasp unfolded 
about those hands than they had gone — these lords of 
ours — riding forth as though they had but one thought 
in their minds — and that assuredly not of the wives they 
left behind them." 

" Gratiano told me, lady, that never was there such a 
bond of friendship between man and man as between 
Bassanio and this Antonio. He said Antonio lives but 
for Bassanio's sake, so close their souls are knit. I do 
not wonder that my Lord Bassanio was so much affected 
at this direful news, which hinted of swift and bloody 
death, compassed by scheming vengeance." 

"We must scheme deeper then, Nerissa," retorted 
Portia eagerly. "We must plot yet more craftily than 
this greedy Jew. Oh, my heart! If this might be. 
Hold my hands closer, Nerissa, and tell me if you would 
be willing to win your husband's yet warmer regard?" 

Nerissa blushed. 

"If that might be, lady," she confessed. 

"It shall be," promised Portia confidently. "Ah, 
Nerissa, shall I ever forget the joy of that moment when 
I stood but lately in the chapel near, seeing the last glow 
of daylight fading to darkness over the high altar, before 
which stood the dear old priest whom I have known and 
loved all my life long, and listened to his solemn blessing 
on the new life which lies before us now? And, whilst 



252 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

my heart beat, half fearful in its joy, I turned to see 
the lovelight in Bassanio's eyes and forthwith yielded 
all myself to him in loving trust. What happiness 
for one who dreaded lest wealth should stand a coldly, 
cruel barrier to all a woman longs for! Love, Nerissa — 
he loves me! Is that the echo in your heart to-night?" 

"Why, yes, dear lady. I am very happy. It is all 
joy to which we look. I see no past — only a future, 
rose-crowned and lovely." 

"Ah!" sighed Portia. "So I told myself but now 
as I looked out into the velvet darkness of the night, 
saying, 'Bassanio loves me, my cup of happiness is full, 
to-morrow he returns — my loving lord.' But then, 
Nerissa, alas! a black shadow fell athwart the sunshine. 
What if our grooms, returning to their brides, bring 
gloomy countenances, weeping for friendship lost, a 
tragedy enacted too ghastly to frame into words, though 
its ghost will haunt a lifetime?" 

Nerissa shivered. 

"It is very true," she replied; "the messenger from 
Venice was positive that none would turn this cruel Jew 
from his bloody purpose. And if Antonio dies for sake of 
the money borrowed to speed Signior Bassanio to your 
arms, I fear the grief will rack your lord with bitter pangs 
and remorse." 

"So much so," moaned Portia, "that at last he will 
say, 'but for you, lady, Antonio would have lived!' Do 
I not know the canker of such thoughts? I vow I would 
give my fortune to win the right to hear him say, 'But 
for you, Portia, Antonio would have died!' Does not 
the repetition of such words thrill you to the desire for 
great deeds, Nerissa?" 

The younger girl looked puzzled. 



STEPHANO GOES TO PADUA 253 

"I would we could help/' she confessed, "and by our 
prayers we may. Yet alas! what other way could there 
be?" 

Portia laughed merrily, her dreamy, wistful mood 
slipping from her like a cloak. She was the gayest and 
most eager of girls as she sprang to her feet, bidding her 
companion light candles, since she wished to unrobe to 
get to bed. 

" What if I have work on hand that you know not of?" 
she demanded as she watched the taper-flare above the 
tall wax candles. " Listen, Nerissa, would you see your 
husband before he thinks of you?" 

Nerissa flushed. 

"I think you would be talking in riddles, lady," 
she averred. 

"Such a riddle," declared Portia, clasping her hands, 
"as you shall never unravel without the key. Oh, 
Nerissa, Nerissa, what folly is in a woman's heart! One 
moment I am beset with fears, weakness, regret, a 
hundred palpitating reproaches; the next I laugh at 
risk, mock at the very hint of failure, and hear the loud 
acclaims for victory won. Tell me, Nerissa, do love's 
devices ever fail? I do not know! But this I'll whisper 
in your ear. A woman's wit is quicker than a man's 
when she is put to it for clever invention. A woman's 
thoughts travel post when a man's go ambling behind at 
a jog trot. And a woman will find a way where a man 
sits down and writes an epitaph on failure." 

"Which means," retorted Nerissa, coming to her lady's 
side, her black eyes dancing in excitement, "that you 
have found a way, madam, to save this worthy merchant 
of Venice?" 

Portia danced a few steps of a stately minuet, curt- 
sying with wreathed arms about a well-poised head. 



254 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"An' it please you/' she mimicked merrily, "I have 
seen a way; but what of its fashion? You shall tell me, 
for instance, what sort of a man I shall seem when I 
don the clothes of one? I vow that of us two I'll make 
the prettier fellow, turn mincing steps into a manly 
stride" — she set her hands on her hips and went swag- 
gering up the room — "wear my dagger with the braver 
grace, and brag! Ah, la, la, Nerissa, you shall hear me 
brag of frays — in which I ever have been winner — tell 
quaint lies of the honorable ladies who have sought my 
love, which, failing to attain, they have fallen sick and 
died, making moan of broken hearts. You'll stand agape 
to hear me, Nerissa, but you'll try to copy too, so bravely 
shall we don our cloaks, swords, doublets and robes." 

Nerissa frowned, perplexed, for this riddle was past her 
unmasking. 

"Why, what would you be doing, lady?" she asked. 
"Join in some masque whilst our lords weep for a friend?" 

She spoke reproachfully. 

But Portia drew her down side by side with her upon 
her couch, and with arm entwined around the girl's waist 
told all the tale of how Stephano had gone in haste to 
Padua and would be returning by early morn to the sign 
of the "Golden Fig," just opposite the common ferry. 

Here would Portia and her faithful maid meet him, 
and there at the inn — with no other confederate than 
Monna Francesca — would the transformation take place 
which would send two adventurous damsels to Venice, 
without loss of time, to carry out Portia's daring scheme 
for the saving of Antonio Cainello, and thus winning to 
herself a bridegroom without the shadow of grief and 
remorse to cloud the joy of their happiness. 

"And so at dawn we leave the palazzo," cried Portia 



STEPHANO GOES TO PADUA 255 

in triumph, when all the story was related. "You shall 
call me very early, Nerissa, since I must make excuse 
to Lorenzo and Jessica for seeming rudeness in quitting 
guests with such claim on our hospitality.' ' 

And Nerissa was very punctual in her obedience, 
so that greatly to their surprise Lorenzo and Jessica 
found their young hostess awaiting them on the terrace 
when they came out next morning whilst the rosy cloud- 
lets of dawn still lingered in the skies. 

It was a fair day and Jessica had been eager to rise 
early and wander out into the pleasant gardens, which 
she had been too weary to notice on the preceding 
evening. 

But she hung back, bashful and shy, at the unexpected 
sight of the Lady Portia and her maid pacing to and fro 
in the sunlight, wrapped in cloaks and hoods as if for 
traveling. 

Portia came forward, however, with the kindliest of 
morning greetings. 

"I am very glad to meet you so early," said she, "for 
I have pardon to crave, nor could I leave the plazzo 
before asking it." 

"You are leaving the palazzo, Signora?" replied 
Lorenzo anxiously. "Then we must " 

But Portia interrupted with a sunny smile of apology. 

"Pardon have I to crave," she said, "and boon to 
ask. I will explain. You know under what circum- 
stances my Lord Bassanio and his friend left last night; 
and, alas! I fear this day will be a hard one for him, 
since a dear friendship is threatened with bloody dis- 
solution. Could I be gay, then, thinking of this suffering? 
I am sure you, lady, and your husband here will under- 
stand that his sorrow is mine even though I do not know 



256 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

the worthy gentleman whose peril is so imminent. There- 
fore, Nerissa and I would wish to withdraw to a convent 
near till our lords return. But, though we would go 
without loss of time, courtesy withholds me. So you 
shall hear my boon. Will you, Signior Lorenzo, and you, 
fair Jessica, look on this house and all it contains as 
yours till our return? Command what you will, do as 
you will, act in all things as though you were lord and lady 
here. I have given my steward Florio instructions, 
and you will find all obedient to your pleasure, which is 
also mine." 

Jessica might have hesitated, too abashed to accept so 
much honor, but Lorenzo, with readier understanding, 
saw the lady's need for a brief acceptance so that she 
might more easily bid farewell — being in evident haste 
to depart. 

"Your hospitality, gracious Signora," he said, bowing 
low over Portia's little hand, "is only equaled by the 
generous kindness of its bestowal. Accept our humble 
gratitude as we accept this very welcome offer. We will 
await your return, praying it may be in a happy manner, 
Heaven interposing to save our noble Antonio from a 
cruel fate." 

Portia inclined her head gracefully. She liked this 
blue-eyed rogue, whose merry face wore tragic expression 
most unnaturally. Certainly the dark-eyed little Jewess 
had won a lively husband, and though a casual observer 
might not have supposed their dispositions to have been 
the least in tune, yet they were plainly devoted to each 
other. 

Slowly they moved forward together to where Portia's 
coach awaited her at the head of the avenue — presum- 
ably to take the lady to her convent shade. 



STEPHANO GOES TO PADUA 257 

"This Antonio/' the latter observed, tentatively, 
"must be a very noble man; for though he is no more 
than a one-time wealthy merchant, yet all seem to hold 
him in very close esteem." 

Lorenzo bowed. 

"There is no nobler in all Venice/' he declared, "no, 
not excepting the Duke himself. He is a man of the 
loftiest honor combined with the kindest heart. And 
though it is said that only knaves manage to win the 
good word of all, yet Antonio Cainello has won and 
deserved the love of every decent-living man or woman. 
His charity is of the widest, his patience untiring. Yet, 
of his many friends, I am sure the Lord Bassanio is the 
one to hold all his heart. If you knew the man as I do, 
lady, you would be prouder of your bounty, which I 
pray may successfully win his life from a hard creditor." 

Portia glanced with quick sympathy towards Jessica. 
It must be hard, she thought, for the girl to hear such 
words against her father, though they seemed well 
deserved. 

But Jessica had drawn the folds of her veil closer so 
that her face could not be seen. 

The coach was reached now, and both Portia and 
Nerissa stepped into it. 

"To meet again," cried the Lady of Belmont, leaning 
from the window, the veil flung back so that she could 
see the two who stood in the avenue watching her 
departure. "And, as you say, Signior Lorenzo, may 
that meeting be in a happier hour — if prayers and love 
can win life for sweet Messer Antonio." 

The last word seemed to echo in the speaker's ears, 
as, leaning back amongst the cushions of her coach 
beside the eagerly expectant Nerissa, they were rapidly 

17 



258 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

driven, not — as was supposed — to the Convent of St. 
Ursula upon the hill top, but twenty miles away to 
where the picturesque little inn of the "Golden Fig" 
stood, facing the ferry where boatmen plied a busy trade 
between the mainland and Venice. 



CHAPTER XXVI 



THE HOUR OF TRIUMPH 



THE hour of triumph! 
Shylock the Jew laughed as he stretched wide 
his arms as though embracing that elusive form 
of a success for which he had schemed and plotted these 
long months past. 

He had won revenge! At least the winning was 
assured. Already he had tasted the sweets of his desire, 
and he was tasting them again as he sat alone in the 
deserted house awaiting the hour when he should go 
hence to the Court of Justice. 

A lonely, deserted house, but Shylock did not think of 
that. He did not recall how death had knocked at his 
door, carrying hence — long years ago — the wife whom 
he had wooed in the heyday of her youth and beauty. 
He did not think of Leah's daughter either — their 
daughter, their little Jessica. Had he ever loved the 
child? Perhaps many years ago, before the gold-lust 
had become his one absorbing passion. To-day, how- 
ever, he had neither affection for Leah's child nor curses 
for the daughter who had stolen his wealth and brought 
disgrace on his name by the renouncing of her faith and 
marriage with a Christian. 

And yet the strongest and most powerful force in the 
old man's breast was his pride. 

Pride of race — the implacable, tenacious pride of the 
Jew who saw himself apart and immeasurably superior 
to the rest of mankind. 

(259) 



260 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Pride of wealth, in subservient degree, but real too, 
glorying in the power which gold gave of crushing and 
humbling the despised Christians. 

And here was the hidden crux of his hatred to Antonio. 
It was as if the merchant had laid his finger on that 
vulnerable spot in the old man's armor and sought to 
wound him there. 

Antonio Cainello, single-minded, charitable, upright, 
could not be expected to understand the tortuous wind- 
ings of Shy lock's pride-hardened mind. The merchant 
of Venice only saw the sordid usurer, who in his lust of 
gain trampled ruthlessly the souls and bodies of fellow- 
men in the mire of despair. 

Cainello did not read the more complex reasons of 
ingrained pride which saw in every Gentile a natural 
enemy and persecutor. The young Venetian, in com- 
mon with most Christians of those days, despised the 
Jewish nation, and he had plainly shown his contempt 
for Shylock. And there was not a scornful phrase, a 
mocking word, a contemptuous look, which the old Jew 
had not noted, treasuring it in his rancorous breast 
against the day of vengeance. It was as if in Antonio 
Cainello he saw the whole antagonistic force of Gentile 
hate consummated. And his hatred, nourished and 
cherished by months and years of brooding, blazed now 
in a passion which almost overwhelmed him in its 
intensity. 

So now at last he triumphed! Pride, crushed and 
bruised by slight and insult, leaped in his veins, singing 
its paean of exultant joy. He was on the threshold of 
seeing his vengeance gratified. Seated there in that 
lonely room of an empty house, the old man rocked to 
and fro, hugging himself in his ecstasy. 



THE HOUR OF TRIUMPH 261 

It was Antonio Cainello who would suffer now — the 
man who had cheated his malice, rescued his victims, 
paid the debts of those he had hoped to tread under his 
heel. Had he not too played the usurer; claiming no 
interest but that of love, so that Shylock grew sick in 
listening to tales of the good Antonio, the generous 
Antonio, the noble Antonio, who bearded Shylock on 
the Rialto, making a scorn and mock of him in his fiery 
condemnations? 

But there would be neither mocks nor gibes now. 
Men would fear Shylock the despised Jew, who had 
taken slow but sure revenge on his enemy. 

He would walk with head erect upon the Rialto and 
see others shrink back in terror, whispering, "There goes 
the man who had the life of Antonio Cainello because 
the merchant mocked him." 

Shylock threw up his arms, crying a thanksgiving 
which to a Christian listener would have smacked of 
blasphemy. 

His hour of triumph! Had it not already begun? 
He had known it to be his, when twenty of the wealth- 
iest merchants from the Rialto had waited on him — on 
him, Shylock the Jew, offering to pay Antonio's debt, if 
he would forego the bond. It had seemed to those 
dignified Signiors that they had come to seek a gray wolf 
in its den, which drew back thin lips above yellow fangs 
screaming at them, "My bond! I'll have my bond! 
It is the Duke's justice." 

He had had the same answer for the Duke himself 
when Niccolo da Ponte had summoned him to the 
Palace to argue with him in suave and stately manner, 
treating him with a courtesy which should have made 
Shylock forget the shame of the yellow badge he wore 
upon his breast. 



262 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

But he did not forget it or the times Antonio the 
merchant had pointed to it, spitting upon it in his revil- 
ing as though to be a Jew were to be the very scum of 
the earth. So Shylock's lips set firm in sinister fashion 
as he answered the Duke that he asked for nothing but 
justice, and desired nothing but his bond. 

It had been the same with the pleading of the mangifi- 
coes of Venice themselves, great nobles who had 
recognized the nobility in Antonio Cainello and called 
him friend. They spoke at length to Shylock, bringing 
forward argument after argument as to why he should 
show mercy; how it would be to his advantage, what 
profit it might bring him. 

But to each and all came but one answer: "My bond. 
I'll have justice — and my bond. The law gives it me. 
I abide by the law." 

So they had gone at last, merchants, magnificoes, the 
Duke himself, worn out by futile reasonings, seeing only 
a hatred so malignant, so unquenchable, that they 
shrank back appalled. And none could have traced 
that hatred by its devious courses back to the source 
saving Shylock himself. 

But Shylock knew — and now he made his offering to 
that outraged pride which, after all, was his birthright. 

From across the waters of the lagoon, floating on the 
breeze down the narrower precincts of the canal, came 
the sound of the bronze hammers of San Marco's great 
clock, striking the hour. Shylock rose, set his yellow 
turban more closely on his head, and shuffled towards 
a walnut-wood chest which stood in one corner of the 
room. Raising the lid he drew forth a long knife. It 
had been lately sharpened and polished, so that it lay 
there in an open leather case like a streak of silver in a 
dark place. 



THE HOUR OF TRIUMPH 263 

There was a wicked glitter on the blade as Shylock 
held it aloft, staring at it fondly, as a young mother 
might look on the crowing babe she holds at arm's 
length, before catching it back to her heart. Many a 
long hour had the old man spent in whetting this 
instrument of his vengeance. And he was satisfied with 
his work. The knife was sharp — very sharp. It would 
cut deeply, even if it were only an old man's hand 
behind it. 

Shylock drew a trembling finger along the edge and 
smiled as he watched the thin trickle of blood which 
oozed from the self -inflicted cut. 

He would be cutting more deeply presently — but not 
into his own flesh. 

Carefully he wiped the slight stain from the glittering 
edge and hid the weapon in the folds of his gabardine. 
He was ready now — quite ready. He would go forth 
to take vengeance after long delay. He would go forth 
to lay the pride of these hated Gentiles in the dust, and 
exalt the pride and strength of the Hebrew nation; a 
strength which many a cringing, beggared suppliant 
had felt before now. 

Coin for coin in payment of old mockeries, present 
contempt. Coin for coin — but the interest to be claimed 
by the Jew over and above all! 

A long, exultant thrill shook the old man as he fingered 
his yellow badge once more. That token would stand 
for a sign of power and fear to-day, when the Jew had 
his will in spite of Duke Niccolo and all his magnificoes. 

The shutters of the opposite houses were open as 
Shylock passed in his boat down the canal, but no head 
craned forth to see the old Jew pass. A crimson curtain 
blew out across the whiteness of a wall. It looked like 



264 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

some blood-stained banner waving to victory in Shy- 
lock's eyes. 

There were flowers on the balconies, swaying graceful 
stems in a breeze. Would flowers deck Antonio's bier? 

The distant droning of water against the sea wall 
might have been a requiem for some passing soul. 

Whose soul? Why, that of the Jew's enemy, since 
Antonio would die to-day. 

Drawing his gabardine more closely around him 
Shylock stepped from the boat which had brought him 
to the Piazza near to the Court of Justice. A crowd of 
people stood around the building. Fishermen in their 
bright-hued caps and sashes, pert flower girls, market- 
folk and merchants jostled with sightseers from all 
parts of the city, who, hearing of the strange case which 
would be heard in court to-day, had come all agog with 
curiosity to know what went forward. 

At sight of Shylock's sinister figure all shrank back, 
whispering and nudging. They seemed afraid that a 
glance from those blear and crafty eyes should fall on 
them, lest they might be "overlooked" by some wizard's 
spell. 

Here he came — the well-known haunter of the Rialto 
— shuffling along, carrying a set of scales in one hand, 
whilst the other caressed his side, making sure the knife 
was safely set in his girdle. 

Once a man leaped out before him, a sunburned fisher- 
man, his red cap set back over black curls, his black 
eyes sparkling in fury as he cursed the vile Jew, who 
stood like some expectant bird of prey before him. 

Then, before Shylock could answer, a young girl 
caught at the man's sash and drew him back into the 
crowd. They were Tito Scappini and his daughter, 



THE HOUR OF TRIUMPH 265 

Gemma, who had wept and prayed incessantly since 
news of their benefactor's arrest had reached them. 

"He has death in his eye/' groaned Scappini, drawing 
a sun-scorched arm across his face. "Santa Maria! — if it 
were not for Lucia and the children I would stab him 
now, before he entered the court." 

But alas ! even now he would have been too late for 
such an act, since Shylock had already mounted the 
marble steps and passed between the imposing doors. 

The Jew's hour had indeed come. 

The court was thronged, except for that part reserved 
for the Duke, the councilors and such magnincoes of 
Venice as were likely to attend so unprecedented a trial. 

Many merchants were gathered together, pale and 
anxious-eyed, self-reproachful too, since all would have 
subscribed to pay Antonio's original debt had any 
dreamed the Jew meant to claim his bond. 

Here and there an unveiled courtesan laughed shrilly 
at the jest one of her cavalieri had whispered in her ear s 
but beyond such as these there were no women in court, 
since Venetian ladies were strictly guarded, never ven- 
turing out of doors without being closely shrouded by 
a veil and accompanied by male relatives or servants. 

Bassanio was here, standing near the door, Gratiano 
and Salarino by his side. The young noble was awaiting 
the entrance of his friend, and appeared pale, agitated 
and very anxious. 

He drew back at sight of Shylock shuffling in with his 
scales and groaned out a curse which merely brought a 
smile to the Jew's lips. For once Shylock found a Gen- 
tile curse as music to his ears — for there was pain in it 
— suffering in it, inflicted, as he knew, by himself. 

Bassanio hid his face for a moment in his cloak, but 



266 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

whether to pray or weep his companions could not 
determine, though they noted how he shuddered, when 
a brazen-voiced courtesan laughed shrilly, crying some 
jest at the expense of Shylock and his scales. 

Then Gratiano plucked Bassanio by the sleeve. 

"I think Messer Antonio comes," he whispered, and 
his eyes were full of a great pity. 

With obvious effort Bassanio turned to see that 
dearest friend enter the court surrounded by his guard. 

What havoc the last three weeks had wrought in 
Antonio's mien and appearance! 

A broken man, both in outward seeming and reality. 
Though he still bore himself with quiet, almost stately 
dignity, the young merchant's shoulders were bent 
as if under too heavy a burden, and he had grown thin 
to emaciation — yet at sight of Bassanio weeping near, 
his face lighted up with a joy bordering on triumph. 

So Salarino had sped well — his friend had come to 
be near him in death, to clasp his hand in love — to 
whisper tender words which should ring in the ears of 
the dying man who went to find Bianca in that Great 
Beyond, where men and women understand so many of 
the secrets never explained on earth. 

"Antonio!" 

Though the other spoke hardly above a whisper the 
guard must have heard; and being altogether in sym- 
pathy with their prisoner, contrived to halt so that the 
two might clasp hands in one all-comprehensive touch. 
Then, as Antonio passed to his place, Bassanio turned 
away, weeping unrestrainedly. 

Gratiano touched his shoulder. 

"Courage, amico," he urged, "do not despair. Think 
of the Lady Portia's generosity. Would any Jew, how- 



THE HOUR OF TRIUMPH 267 

ever greedy for revenge, be able to refuse so rich an 
offer? Shy lock will take the gold. Have no fear on that 
score. Else he would be a traitor to his own nature. 
He'll take the gold — with our curses to flavor it; and 
Antonio will be free." 

It was so easy for Gratiano to see everything rose- 
tinted to-day, though he chafed to think of the long 
hours which must intervene before he saw his Nerissa 
again. 

But between Bassanio and his happiness stood the 
shadow of a friend's approaching sacrifice. For the 
moment, in his present agony, Bassanio would have 
been willing to renounce his claim on Portia herself, 
if by so doing he might win his friend's salvation. 

•Yet he could not believe Gratiano 's cheerful con- 
victions. 

"Look at Shylock," he muttered, "and read me the 
purpose in his eyes. But do not speak of hope or mercy 
after noting the twisted hate of yonder features." 

And Gratiano looking, beheld, as it were, the face of 
a devil. 



CHAPTER XXVII 

THE TRIAL 

A MURMUR of welcome sounded without. Muffled 
cheers greeted the popular ruler, Niccolo da 
Ponte, as he and his train approached the Court 
of Justice. 

The Duke had come. All eyes turned to the door to 
watch him enter, a very stately figure in his crimson 
velvet tunic and robes. He was a handsome, kindly- 
looking man, bearing himself with regal grace as he 
passed slowly to his seat, followed by a long train of 
the highest nobles — or magnificoes — of Venice, a somber 
group in their black doublets and hose, though the 
gloom of their attire was relieved on this occasion by 
the short scarlet cloaks which they wore flung back 
over one shoulder. 

They looked grave enough, though, as they took their 
seats, for this was no ordinary trial, but as it were the 
judgment on some racial feud. 

Jew versus Gentile! But the law of the land was on 
the side of the Jew, and try as they might, those scarlet- 
robed councilors yonder, seated in semicircle, could not 
deny it. 

It was an imposing scene upon which winter sunshine 
blazed down — the scarlet robes of the councilors, the 
black and red of the magnificoes, which did not lack 
a suggestion of the satanic, combined with dark faces 
and black, pointed beards, the brilliant-hued dress of 

(268) 



THE TRIAL 269 

the rich merchants and the glitter of gold tissue which 
adorned the flaunting figures of the courtesans. 

And outside, the expectant crowd, the blue waters of 
the lagoons and the pigeons circling about the gilt and 
marble domes of churches and palaces. 

There was a breathless pause after the Duke had 
seated himself, then all eyes turned to the central figures 
in that strange drama as Niccolo da Ponte spoke. 

"Is Antonio Cainello here?" he asked. 

Antonio raised his head, answering very calmly, "I 
am ready — so it please Your Grace." 

The Duke was silent, staring gloomily around the 
crowded court. 

He fully realized what would be required of him 
to-day — and never had he found it so difficult to main- 
tain his proud motto, "Justice in the Palace." 

Yet what could he do? Shy lock had shown himself 
implacable, and his threats were significant. 

If the Duke once made the precedent of setting mercy 
before justice, law and order would be imperiled in 
Venice, and he would be found guilty of betraying his 
trust for the sake of mere personal feeling. 

Yet Antonio's quiet bearing and brave fortitude wrung 
a groan from his judge. 

"I am sorry for you, merchant," said the Duke, 
glancing from plaintiff to defendant. "You are come 
to answer a stony adversary, an inhuman wretch in- 
capable of pity, void and empty of any spark of mercy." 

It was an unusual denunciation on a judge's part, 
yet to none did it seem out of place at this unpre- 
cedented trial. 

But Shylock merely smiled as he set down his scales 
upon a table and stood with lean arms folded within 
the wide sleeves of his gabardine. 



270 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 






He was quite aware that he had no friend or advocate 
in that crowded court, and the knowledge increased the 
pride of his triumph. He, the despised Jew, was here 
to bend the necks of these mocking Gentiles. He was 
here to confound them by their own cherished laws. 
He was here to take revenge upon his enemy — and in 
doing so exalted his whole down-trodden race to the 
level of their tyrants. 

Antonio was replying courteously to the Duke's im- 
petuous outburst. 

"I have heard of the kindness you have shown towards 
me in this matter, Your Grace," he said, "and thank 
you with all my heart for this great condescension and 
love towards me that you should so interest yourself 
on my behalf. Yet at the same time I know the law — 
and that this man, whose debtor I am, hath that law 
on his side. So, for the sake of justice, for Venice and 
for the people, my dear countrymen, I am content to 
oppose my patience to the fury of my enemy. There 
is no other way — but to pay my debt in the fashion which 
this bond dictates." 

But the Duke, still impetuous, turned in one last appeal 
to Shylock, who waited, no less mocking than patient, 
for the moment of fulfilment when vengeance should be 
complete. 

"Shylock," cried Duke Niccolo, "is it not time to 
finish with this play-acting which grows cruel when 
carried too far? We will not wrong you, Jew, by believ- 
ing you to be in earnest. This is but an ill-timed jest, 
by which you would prove to Antonio here the folly 
of setting his name to so wild a bond, which it were 
death to fulfil. Come, I will prophesy, good Shylock, 
and tell you how 'tis thought you'll act to-day, for in 



THE TRIAL 271 

sooth we believe that presently you will lay aside this 
cloak of strange apparent cruelty and instead of exacting 
the penalty of a pound of this poor merchant's flesh, 
will not only free him of his bond and refuse to take 
any forfeiture, but, touched with human gentleness and 
love, forgive at least a part of the principal of his debt." 

Shylock stood with bent head, not raising his eyes 
from the ground, so silent that the Duke, fancying that 
his appeal had touched a seemingly obdurate heart, 
continued his persuasive speech. 

"You will have pity, Shylock, " he urged with more 
confidence, "considering the losses of this poor mer- 
chant, which, coming one after another in such cruel 
fashion, have been enough to wreck the most royal 
fortunes and crush their victim to a dark despair, 
enough to rouse commiseration in the stoniest breast 
and bring compassion to hearts which have never before 
felt such kindly feelings stir them. I do not believe 
I plead in vain, but, having shown you plainly this 
debtor's sad estate, shall have a gentle answer from 
you." 

A gentle answer! 

Did he indeed expect it? Was it expected by those 
gravely-watching councilors who sat listening to the 
judge's brief petition on the prisoner's behalf? Did 
those who crowded that sunny court expect to hear the 
welcome words of forgiveness issue from the lips of the 
man who stood defying all present in his indomitable 
lust of hate and pride? 

Shylock had raised his face and stood scanning those 
who watched him, with a deliberate stare before he 
turned to his noble interrogator. 

"Have I not already told Your Grace my purpose?" 



272 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

he demanded scornfully, raising a lean right arm aloft. 
"And by our holy sabbath I have sworn to have the 
due and forfeit of my bond. If you deny it, you threaten 
your own charter and your city's freedom with the 
danger of injustice committed. I am here to claim my 
due. Justice — no more nor less. You'll ask me why 
I rather choose to have a weight of carrion flesh than 
to receive three thousand ducats? I'll not answer that, 
but say it is my humor." 

A murmur ran through the court. Men looked in 
horror at the man who stood before them making such 
a statement in callous tones of hate. 

A murderer, claiming justice to stand beside him 
whilst he performed his deed of blood. 

Shylock flung them a snarl in answer to that low- 
voiced abhorrence, turning to right and left to confront 
that crowded audience, like some gray wolf at bay. 

"What, are you answered yet?" he cried, his voice 
rising shrill in his scarcely pent rage. "If my house be 
troubled with a rat, who shall say me nay if it be my 
pleasure to give ten thousand ducats to be rid of it? 
Is there any more reason in hatred than in love? Some 
men there are who are mad if they see a cat, another 
faints at sight of a crawling reptile. Can you tell me 
what is the reason for each passion which sways a man's 
mood? Bring your wise men, your learned philosophers, 
to argue the point with me. Give your reasons, sirs — 
and I'll give mine. Till then you shall be content to 
know that without given reason but by natural instinct 
I so hate this smug merchant, this Antonio Cainello 
here, that I am content to follow a losing suit against 
him. Aye, content with what is due to me — that 
which justice and your Duke, your Senate and your 



THE TRIAL 273 

councilors, cannot deny me — the payment of my 
bond." 

The last words rose to a shriek such as fiends might 
utter in some nethermost hell as they guide their vic- 
tim's feet towards the pit. He defied them all, this old, 
frail man, whose shriveled form seemed to swell and 
dilate with the flame of his hate so that he towered 
amongst them — a conqueror — using their own tools to 
confound them. The Duke leaned back in his gilded 
chair. Here was such a quandary as it seemed his 
wisest councilors could not deliver him from. His 
cherished goddess — that justice whose sword he was so 
proud to wield — was in danger if this old Jew's demand 
was refused. He dared not risk the State by this. Yet, 
equally impossible did it seem that one of Venice's 
most reputable citizens should be hacked to death 
before his eyes and those of all present to gratify the 
hate and blood-lust of this alien usurer. 

Bassanio Ramberti had stepped forward and was 
confronting Shylock with clenched hands and a face 
grown ashen in the effort of mastering fierce emo- 
tions. 

He was here to plead — yet never had he felt less like 
such a task. His fingers itched to be at this old mur- 
derer's throat and squeeze the vile life from such a 
heartless rogue. 

Yet he conquered the instinct and tried to speak 
calmly. 

"Unfeeling wretch," he said, "this answer is no 
excuse for such cruelty as you conceive." 

Shylock shrugged his lean shoulders in contempt. 

"I am not bound to please you with my answer," 
he retorted. 

18 



274 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



Bassanio bit his lip. "Do all men kill the things 
they do not love?" he argued in more level tones. 

Shylock sneered. "Does any man hate the thing he 
would not kill?" he replied subtly. 

"Every offence is not a hate at first," quoth Bassanio. 

The old man laughed. "What?" he queried. "Would 
you have a serpent sting you twice?" 

And he shuffled back nearer to the table where the 
scales stood. 

Antonio stretched out his hand, touching his friend's 
arm gently. 

"Bassanio," he said, "I pray you not to question 
with the Jew. You do but waste your time, for indeed 
you might as well stand on the beach and try to lull 
the storm; or question with the wolf upon his cruelty 
in making the ewe bleat vainly for the lamb. You 
might as well bid the mountain pines forbear to sway 
under the fury of the winter storm. Or any harder 
task you might essay more easily than hope to soften 
this man's Jewish heart. So, amico, I do beseech you, 
make no more offers, use no more arguments, since both 
and all are vain, and but waste the time and patience 
of these kindly friends. Let me therefore have judg- 
ment — and the Jew his will." 

As he spoke the doomed man began to loosen the 
fastening of the long furred robe he wore in place of 
hose and doublet, but Bassanio, passionate in his despair, 
checked him. Even fury against Shylock was forgotten 
in the agony of his desire to save his friend. 

"Come, Jew," he cried, "listen to my offer. An 
honest, sober offer which you'll not despise since I have 
the gold here. For three thousand ducats here are six." 

Shylock scarcely deigned to turn his head. 



THE TRIAL 275 

"If every ducat in six thousand ducats were in six 
parts," he replied, "and every part a ducat, I would 
not draw them. I would have my bond." 

Bassanio groaned, catching at Gratiano s shoulder 
and hiding his face — he had made so sure that Portia's 
generous offer would win life for his friend. 

That last speech of Shylock's had damned all such 
bright expectations. 

"How shall you hope for mercy, rendering none?" 
asked Duke Niccolo sternly. 

Shylock looked up quickly towards the judge, and 
there was that defiance bred of long persecution in his 
reply. 

"What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong? " 
he replied. "You have among you many a purchased 
slave, which, like your asses, your dogs and mules, you 
use in slavish parts — because you bought them. Shall 
I say to you, 'Let them be free. Marry them to your 
heirs! Why sweat they under burdens? Let their 
beds be made as soft as yours. Let them dine at your 
table in honorable place, eating the same food, drink- 
ing the same drink.' You will answer, 'The slaves are 
ours.' 

"So do I answer you. The pound of flesh, which 
I demand of Antonio here, is dearly bought, is mine 
and I will have it. If you deny me, fie upon your law. 
There is no force in the decrees of Venice. I stand for 
judgment. Answer, Your Grace, and you, learned 
councilors of the Senate? Shall I have it?" 

He stretched forth claw-like hands, swaying to and 
fro — a mummy in the wind. Yet the hurricane which 
swept him was that of hate, a quivering, sensient hate 
which filled with horror those who gazed at it. 



276 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

No less appalled than the rest was the Duke himself. 
In this meanly clad and despicable Jew he met a pride 
equal to his own or that of the proud nobles who stood 
around; and this pride, clamoring in the name of jus- 
tice, demanded the only panacea which hate could 
contrive to soothe its wounds. 

"Upon my power," groaned da Ponte, glancing help- 
lessly around, "I can do nothing but dismiss this court 
unless Bellario, a learned doctor of Padua, for whom 
I have sent to unravel so nice a point between justice 
and humanity, come here to-day." 

There was a slight stir at the back of the court, and 
Salarino, who had gone towards the door, after speaking 
with Bassanio, now hastily approached the Duke. 

"Your Grace," said he, bowing very reverently, yet 
speaking with scarcely concealed eagerness, "a mes- 
senger stands without even now, newly arrived from 
Padua, with letters from the doctor you mention." 

The Duke's gloomy face cleared. 

"Bring us the letter," he commanded briefly. "Call 
the messenger." 

Bassanio turned to where the prisoner stood resting 
his elbow on the rail before him, his face covered by his 
hand, whilst his lips moved in silent prayer. 

"Good cheer, Antonio," he cried huskily. "What, 
man? Courage yet! The Jew shall have my flesh, 
blood, bones and all, before you shall lose one drop of 
blood for me." 

Antonio raised his head. He was very pale, but there 
was neither fear nor dismay upon his countenance, 
which wore the lofty courage of one who, having made 
his peace with God, looks forward to speedy dissolution 
with calm tranquility, regarding less the horror of pain 



THE TRIAL 277 

or dark charnel house of the tomb than the hope of a 
life to come, widening out into the sure expectation of 
an eternity of bliss where love reigns triumphant and 
hate cannot abide. 

"Hush!" he replied. "I am prepared to die, as you to 
live, Bassanio; if you will write my epitaph hereafter 
you shall say, 'Here lies a man who knew what love 
might mean.'" 

He smiled with something akin to triumph in his 
look, knowing that Bassanio might not wholly read the 
riddle of this speech, though he himself would soon be 
telling it to fair Bianca in the fields of paradise. 

Yet at sight of his friend's tears, his own came near to 
brimming, for with Bassanio 's hand warm in his own, 
and his heart knit fast in tender bonds to this Bianca 's 
brother, his own youth and strength cried, "Live! Aye, 
life can be good and sweet and true here on earth. Live 
— and love." 

Yet, whilst the voice echoed loudly in his heart, he 
heard a sound which thrilled him with a new-born 
horror. 

Shylock had drawn his knife from beneath the folds of 
his gabardine and was sharpening its already keen point 
against the sole of his shoe as if in pleasant anticipation. 



CHAPTER XXVIII 



BELLARIO'S SUBSTITUTE 



A SLIM, dingily-attired figure passed up the court 
towards the Duke's seat. 
A lawyer's clerk he appeared to be, who held 
himself straightly, though he kept his eyes on the 
ground, whilst he clasped a roll of parchment fast 
against his breast. 

The Duke glanced curiously at him. The clerk was 
but a boy, possessing the swagger born of excessive shy- 
ness. But, after all, what of a lawyer's clerk? It was 
his master who concerned those present. 

"Come you from Padua, from Bellario?" demanded 
Duke Niccolo. 

The boy bowed jerkily. 

"From both, Your Grace," he answered in low tones. 
"Signior Bellario greets Your Grace." 

And he held out the folded parchment, with its bind- 
ing of ribbon and seals, to the Duke, who hastily unfast- 
ened and began to read the contents. 

Silence prevailed in the court, saving where here and 
there one whispered to another in undertones concerning 
the likely issue of this sinister business. 

A woman — painted and bedecked in gaudy fashion, 
was being borne, half swooning, by two cavalieri, from 
the place where death, grim and terrible, seemed hid- 
eously personified by the shrunken figure in its coarse 
gabardine which stood near the Duke's seat. 

(278) 



BELLARIO'S SUBSTITUTE 279 

Men, looking at Shylock the Jew, crossed themselves 
as though in that gray-bearded old man they saw the 
father of evil himself. But he, for his part, neither 
looked up nor around him, but stood, resting his left 
hand upon the table where his scales were placed, whilst 
in the right he clutched the knife whose blade he 
drew to and fro across the sole of his shoe with a 
monotonous swishing sound which grated so hatefully 
upon Gratiano's ear that he stepped to the Jew's side, 
hoping to arrest this hideous occupation. 

"Why do you whet your knife so earnestly?" he 
asked. 

Shylock chuckled, nodding towards Antonio. 

"To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there," he 
retorted. 

Gratiano shuddered. 

"Not on your sole, but on your soul, harsh Jew," he 
reproached, "do you make your knife keen. But no 
metal, not even the hangman's axe, can be hah so keen 
as your sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?" 

He thought as he spoke of little Nerissa in distant 
Belmont, and grieved for the sorrow in which he and 
Bassanio must return to those who so lovingly awaited 
them. 

"Prayers?" mocked Shylock contemptuously. "None 
that thou hast wit enough to make." 

The taunt stung Venetian pride to the quick. "May 
you be damned for this, inexorable dog!" cried Gratiano 
softly, but very sincerely. "Can justice spare the life 
of so vile a thing? If so she wrongs her name. Are 
you a man, gifted with a human soul? I cannot think 
so ill of my kind. A wolf's heart beats in your bosom, 
Jew. Aye! and a wolf, which in some past and better 



280 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



age hanged for human slaughter. Would it be possible 
for one like thou art to conceive any desires but such as 
are wolfish, bloody, starved and ravenous?" 

He paused for want of breath and perhaps because 
the venom of this rage choked him. 

But Shylock stood unmoved, continuing the sharpen- 
ing of his knife against the leather of his shoe. Had 
Gratiano spoken in most sugared compliment he could 
not have gratified better the Jew's delight in thus wit- 
nessing the impotent wrath of those whom he saw 
metaphorically so fast beneath his heel. 

"Till you can rail the seal off my bond," he retorted 
suavely, "you but injure your lungs in speaking so 
loudly. Repair your wit, good youth, or it will go 
limping past cure for the rest of your life. I stand here 
for law." 

He justified Gratiano's likening to a wolf by the snap 
of his jaw. He was hard as flint, this old man, and 
surely no soulless beast of the forest had so fierce a lust 
against its victim's life. 

Duke Niccolo was refolding the parchment scroll 
with due deliberation and bent to hand it to the clerk, 
who sat beneath his seat. 

Then, turning to the young messenger who had 
brought the writing, he addressed him kindly and with 
lightened brow: "This letter from the illustrious Bellario 
commends a young and learned doctor to our court," 
he said. "Where is he — your master as I take it?" 

The youth bowed, this time with more assurance. 

"He attends hard by, Your Grace," he replied eagerly, 
"till I shall bring him the answer as to your pleasure in 
admitting him." 

Duke Niccolo smiled, nodding towards a little group 
of attendants standing near. 



BELLARIO'S SUBSTITUTE 281 

"With all my heart," he said. "Some three of four 
of you go give him courteous conduct hither. Mean- 
time, the court shall hear Bellario's letter." 

The young men hurried away, bearing the dingy little 
clerk in their midst so that he might bring them to his 
master. 

As soon as they had gone the Duke signed to the man 
who held the parchment to proceed in his reading, and a 
great hush fell forthwith on all the court. 

Men craned forward, anxious not to lose a word of 
what was said, though as they listened many shook their 
heads, deciding that if the wit and affection of all Venice 
had failed to save its beloved citizen, this youthful 
stranger was little likely to achieve success. 

Yet to Bassanio, ever optimistic in his thoughts, there 
showed some ray of hope in a very dark and gloomy 
despair. 

" 'Your Grace shall understand,' " read the clerk in 
high-pitched tones, "'that at the receipt of your letter I 
am very sick; but in the instant that your messenger 
came, in loving visitation was with me a young doctor 
of Rome; his name is Balthazar. I acquainted him 
with the cause in controversy between the Jew and 
Antonio the merchant. We turned over many books 
together; he is furnished with my opinion, which, 
bettered with his own learning (the greatness of which I 
cannot enough commend), comes with him, at my 
importunity to fill up your Grace's request in my stead. 
I beseech you let his lack of years be no impediment to 
let him lack a reverend estimation, for I never knew so 
young a body with so old a head. I leave him to your 
gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his 
commendation.' " 



282 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

This with many courteous salutations ended the letter 
of the illustrious doctor Giralomo Bellario, and its read- 
ing was received by a low murmur of comments from 
the listeners. 

Not many hopes were, however, entertained by those 
present that the young substitute in whose praises a 
great man did not stint himself, would triumph where 
a Bellario might probably have failed. 

What argument could outstand Shy lock's claim? 
The bond was made and signed; forfeit was due. Jus- 
tice claimed its payment. 

Even Shylock expressed no shadow of fear that his 
triumph stood in jeopardy. This was but a prolongation 
of his victim's torture, and as such he was ready to wel- 
come it in this day of exultation and revenge. 

"You hear what the learned Bellario writes?" said 
the Duke, glancing eagerly towards the door. "And here, 
I take it, comes the doctor he has sent us." 

Bassanio, turning with the rest, though with his hand 
still clasped within that of Antonio, saw a flutter of red 
robes and the glimpse of a young dark face which, for a 
moment, had something familiar in it, though as he 
racked his brain to place a name to the likeness, it 
escaped him and he saw only a good-looking youth, who 
wore his dark locks somewhat ragged and untidy about 
the nape of his slender neck, yet bore himself with easy 
grace and confidence as, bowing, he kissed the Duke's 
extended hand. 

"You are welcome," quoth Duke Niccolo very 
graciously, "seeing you come from our friend the 
illustrious Bellario with such credentials as shall pres- 
ently, I pray, make you more welcome still for your own 
sake, wise young sir. Take your place. Are you 






BELLARIO'S SUBSTITUTE 283 

acquainted with the case which presents such difficulties 
to the common cause of justice with mercy?' ' 

His keen glance searched the newcomer's face and 
person anxiously. It seemed but that of a youth, after 
all, comely and well set up in slender fashion, though his 
flowing robe hid his figure to a great extent. 

Was this one, thought the Duke, to crack so hard a 
nut, unravel so tangled a skein and preserve this court 
of justice from what, under cloak of law and justice, 
was little short of a bloody and unnatural crime? 

And at the question his hopes sank as low as those of 
Bassanio, who eyed the stripling doctor with much dis- 
favor for all the latter's confident carriage. Certainly 
Balthazar of Padua did not share in his clerk's shyness, 
for having quickly arranged his papers, he answered the 
Duke in clear, ringing tones, which, resounding through 
the court, again awakened elusive memories in Bassanio 's 
breast; memories which were soon forgotten, since in 
listening to the doctor's speech, he quicker ceased to 
ponder on the doctor's tones. 

"I am informed of the case, Your Grace," said the 
young lawyer very deliberately. " Which is the mer- 
chant here and which the Jew?" 

He glanced as he spoke towards the spot where Bas- 
sanio stood beside his friend, but the glance was too 
brief for Bassanio to have told what color were the 
speaker's eyes. 

"Antonio Cainello, and you Shy lock, stand forth," 
commanded the Duke. 

Balthazar leaned forward over his desk, regarding the 
two intently. But he addressed himself to the Jew first. 

"Is your name Shylock?" he asked. 

"Shylock is my name," was the grudging response. 



284 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"This is a strange suit you follow/' mused the lawyer 
aloud. "Yet you claim the Venetian law, and so this 
man stands your debtor, do you not?" 

He turned to Antonio, who, truth to tell, found this 
respite from speedy consummation of his sacrifice most 
trying of all, so sure was he that the delay only meant 
the longer torture of suspense. 

"Aye, so he says," he replied quietly. 

"Do you confess the bond?" 

"I do." 

Balthazar looked to the rearrangement of his papers — 
his hands were very small and shapely, though as dark- 
skinned as his complexion. 

"Then must the Jew be merciful," said he. 

Shylock's claw-like ringers sought his beard, tugging 
it restlessly. 

"Why? Why?" he demanded. "On what compul- 
sion must I? Tell me that?" 

The young lawyer spread out both arms, raising his 
face so that the light from an upper window fell on it. 

"The quality of mercy is not strained," he cried; "it 
droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven, upon the place 
beneath. It is twice blessed; it blesseth him that gives 
and him that takes. 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest. 
It becomes the throned monarch better than his crown: 
his scepter shows the force of temporal power, the attri- 
bute to awe and majesty, wherein doth sit the dread 
and fear of kings. But mercy is above this sceptered 
sway. It is enthroned in the hearts of kings. It is an 
attribute to God himself. And earthly power doth then 
show likest God's when mercy seasons justice. There- 
fore, Jew, though justice be thy plea, consider this — 
that in the course of justice, none of us should see 



BELLARIO'S SUBSTITUTE 285 

salvation. We do pray for mercy, and that same prayer 
doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy. I have 
spoken thus much to mitigate the justice of your plea; 
which, if you follow, this strict Court of Venice must 
needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant here." 

He paused — awaiting Shylock's answer as though he 
and the Jew were here alone, man to man, pleading a 
brother's cause. He seemed oblivious to the fact of how 
his eloquence had stirred the court, moving the Duke 
himself nearly to tears, whilst a deep breath rose like a 
mighty sigh from every listener in silent admiration of 
so noble a speech. 

So all listened— for the answer which must come from 
one who alone had remained unmoved, unstirred by 
that passionate appeal which carried its case far beyond 
the limits of earthly justice to a greater Court, pointing 
the proud, vengeful old man who clamored for such a 
cruel right to the mightiest of reasons for his mercy. 

The Duke, the law of Venice, the pleas of friends, 
the bribery of gold, might all fail to rescue Antonio 
Cainello from his enemy. But this young doctor of law 
placed this question on another basis, crying to the 
creditor to remember how one day he, a debtor would 
stand before the Judge of judges. 

Could he look for mercy then — rendering none here? 
- It was a terrible thought, suggested by the subtle 
reason of one who knew the strong belief of the Jew in a 
hereafter, near and tangible to the holder of a narrow 
but powerful creed. 

It was no matter of love or hate, forgiveness or ven- 
geance, for Antonio the merchant, but, based on this 
other standpoint, a personal question to the soul of 
Shylock the Jew. 



286 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Here was what others had failed to find. A reason 
for an avenger's mercy. And as all listened in that 
pregnant silence, some there were who thought to pray 
that the appeal had not been vain. 

Alas! Hope was barely born before the raucous voice 
of Shylock rose in fierce outcry as though defying some 
deep, inner whisper of his heart. 

"My deeds upon my head! I crave the law. The 
penalty and forfeit of my bond." 

With a groan Bassanio turned his head away. Only 
a fool or madman could still hope for mercy after that 
appeal had been vain. 

The young Paduan glanced for the second time 
towards where Bassanio stood beside Antonio's side. 

"Is he not able to discharge the money?" he asked, 
indicating the latter. 

Bassanio stepped eagerly forward. He had ceased to 
puzzle over elusive memories awakened by Signior 
Balthazar's voice and face. His whole soul was 
absorbed by the desire to save his friend. 

"Yes," he cried, holding out a leathern bag which 
bulged in weighty fulness. "Here I tender it for him 
in the court. Yea! Twice the sum! If that will not 
suffice, I will be bound to pay it ten times over, on for- 
feit of my hands, my head, my heart. If this will not 
suffice then malice must be proved stronger than love 
and truth. Oh, I beseech you, ye who judge this case 
even as you would plead for it, will you not once bend 
the law to your authority? To do a great right do a 
little wrong, and cheat this cruel devil of his prey?" 

With hand outflung the young noble stood, imploring 
the Duke and his councilors with such vehement distress 
that the tears which ran down his cheeks seemed to 
draw similar signs of emotion to the eyes of others. 



BELLARIO'S SUBSTITUTE 287 

Never surely was justice in such danger of outrage. 

The Duke covered his face with his mantle, more than 
one grave Signior wept aloud — but before Niccolo da 
Ponte could make reply, the voice of the advocate sent 
by Bellario broke in, calm and decisive. 

"It must not be," he ruled. "There is no power in 
Venice can alter an established decree. 'Twill be 
recorded for a precedent; and by so ill an example, 
many a wrong and error will creep into the law of the 
Republic. It cannot be as you demand." 

Bassanio drew back, disappointed, baffled. For a 
brief moment he had thought to read relenting on the 
faces of Antonio's judges. Alas! that the very man sent 
to save his friend should be the one to confound him. 

But whilst the rest of those present were silent for 
very grief, Shylock was loud in his applause. 

Shuffling a little nearer to the lawyer's desk, he raised 
his hands in admiration, saluting Balthazar respectfully. 

"A Daniel come to judgment!" he exclaimed, showing 
yellow teeth in a wolfish grin. "Yea, a Daniel. O wise 
young judge, how I do honor you!" 

The Paduan leaned towards him. "I pray you, let 
me look upon the bond?" he begged. 

Thrusting his hand within the breast of his gabardine 
the old man drew forth the parchment with its pon- 
derous seals. 

"Here it is, most reverend doctor," he cried, offering 
it to the young lawyer; "here it is." 

Balthazar took the scroll and began reading it very 
carefully, his fine brows knit in a slight frown. Another 
wearisome pause, during which Antonio resumed his 
attitude of silent prayer, whilst Bassanio stared moodily 
before him, hearing nothing, seeing nothing but the 



288 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

haunting picture which, despair cried in his ear, must 
soon be witnessed by his waking sight. 

"Shylock," quoth Balthazar sharply, "there's thrice 
your money offered to you here." 

The old Jew shook his head. 

"An oath, an oath," he clamored fiercely. "I have 
an oath in Heaven. Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? 
No! Not for Venice!" 

The lawyer sighed as, refolding the parchment, he 
looked around that crowded court. 

"Why," said he, "this bond is forfeit, and lawfully 
by this the Jew may claim a pound of flesh, to be by 
him cut off nearest the merchant's heart. Shylock, be 
merciful. Take thrice your money; bid me tear the 
bond." 

He held the paper high between his hands in full view 
of all, as though in the act of tearing it. But Shylock 's 
tone rose shrill. 

"When it is paid according to the tenor. But not 
till then ! It doth appear you are a worthy judge. You 
know the law, young sir, your exposition hath been most 
sound. I charge you by the law, whereof you are a 
well-deserving pillar, proceed to judgment. By my 
soul ! I swear there is no power in the tongue of man to 
alter me. I stay here on my bond." 

Alas! Was not all in vain? Threats, bribes, entrea- 
ties, all that tongue could urge had been urged in that 
court that day. 

Yet it counted for nothing against an old man's jaun- 
diced will and pride. 

It was Antonio himself who set a period on his friends' 
distress. 

"Most heartily I do beseech the court to give the 



BELLARIO'S SUBSTITUTE 289 

judgment/ ' he said, and his voice rang clear and calm, 
with never a tremor of fear to add to the horror of the 
scene. 

Balthazar laid his papers aside. 

"Why, then, thus it is," he replied, "you must prepare 
your bosom for his knife." 

A cry of anguish broke from Bassanio's lips, echoed 
by many in the court. 

But Shylock was inexorable. Catching up the knife 
he had laid aside, he approached his victim, who, in 
spite of his friend's detaining hands, was essaying to 
unrobe himself. 

"O noble judge!" cried Shylock, waving his terrible 
weapon as though in salutation to one who so favored 
his cause. u O excellent young man!" 

The Duke would have spoken, interposing his au- 
thority. But what could he do? Was he not Niccolo 
da Ponte — the Duke of Venice, who, above all things, 
prided himself on administering a fair and equal justice? 

And Balthazar for the moment seemed to have 
usurped his place. 

"For," continued the young Paduan, "the intent 
and purpose of the law hath full relation to the penalty." 

" 'Tis very true," gibed Shylock. "O wise and up- 
right judge! How much older art thou than thy looks?" 

"Therefore," concluded the lawyer, "lay bare your 
bosom, Antonio." 

"Aye," interrupted Shylock, gloatingly. "His breast; 
so says the bond. Doth it not, noble judge? Nearest 
his heart, those are the very words." 

"It is so," agreed the Paduan. "Are there balances 
here to weigh the flesh?" 

"I have them ready," cried Shylock, pointing in an 

19 



290 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

ecstasy to the table where the balances had been set, 
swaying with sinister motion up and down, as though 
drawing attention to the hideous meaning of their 
presence here. 

Bassanio was past speech. These details were too 
terrible, too ghastly for contemplation. As in a trance 
he saw the figure of Shylock the Jew hovering near, 
between the table on which the balances stood and his 
victim, who — alone calm amidst that nerve-racked 
audience — waited with bared breast for the first thrust 
of the knife. 

The Jew's face was diabolical in its vengeful lust. 
Nought, as it seemed, but an angel from Heaven could 
have held his hand now. 

Dignity, pride, everything was forgotten in that 
glutting of insensate hate which flamed in his blear 
eyes making them bright and keen; whilst, though every 
other limb shook in the transport of his triumph, his 
raised right arm was steady for its purpose. The flash of 
the polished steel shone aloft as a streak of light, station- 
ary only for a moment. 

The Duke and his councilors sat with averted eyes, 
appalled, dismayed, yet silent before a swift judgment, 
which could not be gainsaid. 

Gratiano was vainly trying to draw the stunned 
Bassanio away, but the latter refused to move from 
Antonio's side. 

At the back of his mind the young noble had some 
subconscious plan of interposing his own body between 
that cruel knife and its victim's breast. Surely, if one 
died in expiation of a bond, justice would be satisfied 
and Antonio's life spared. 

Yes, justice would be satisfied. Yet Bassanio, re- 






BELLARIO'S SUBSTITUTE 291 

solved on such a sacrifice, did not pray — he only thought 
of Portia, and wondered vaguely whether she would say 
the sacrifice was well made. 

Being a noble lady could she do otherwise? He 
stared past the Jew to where the Paduan lawyer stood, 
erect, alert, in his place, the sun aflame upon his doctor's 
robes, his handsome face calm as that of some Rada- 
manthus, who gave judgment without thought for 
aught but barest justice. 

And looking at him thus, Bassanio knew his own 
dear lady, doubtless praying for him and his friend in 
distant Belmont, would say it was right her lord should 
pay his own debt. 

"Stay," quoth Balthazar peremptorily. "You must 
not fail to have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your 
charge, to stop Antonio's wounds, lest he bleed to 
death." Shylock glanced back over his shoulder. 

"Is it so nominated in the bond?" he muttered. 

The lawyer made pretext to unroll the scroll once 
more. 

"It is not so expressed," he replied. "But what of 
that? 'Twere good you do so much for charity." 

Shylock had returned, and was peering over the 
other's shoulder, tracing every word of the script with 
a claw-like forefinger. 

"I cannot find it," he growled; "it is not in the bond." 

No! It was not in the bond, and Balthazar the 
Paduan, relinquishing the parchment, left Shylock to 
study it further at his leisure whilst he turned to 
Antonio, who stood patiently awaiting sentence. 

"Come, merchant," quoth he softly. "Have you 
anything to say?" 

Antonio smiled the faint, sad smile of one who already 



292 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

accustoms his eyes to look beyond this sphere towards 
eternity. 

"But little," he replied. "I am armed and well 
prepared. Give me your hand, Bassanio — fare you 
well. After all, fortune is more kind in meting me this 
fate than is her custom. At least I escape the doom of 
watching poverty slowly overwhelm me. It is difficult, 
after knowing the joys of wealth, to learn the hard 
lessons of the poor, in middle life. Commend me to 
your wife, and tell her the tale of your friend; say how 
I loved you, and when she hears how I died bid her 
judge whether Bassanio had not once a love. Nay! 
Weep not for me, do not so much as repent the loss of 
your friend since he repents not that he pays your debt. 
I vow, if the Jew cuts deep enough, I'll pay it instantly — 
with all my heart." 

Bassanio raised his head, showing a face so grief - 
stricken that those who saw it turned away to weep 
for very sympathy of a fellow creature's agony. 

Yet he found voice to answer that last farewell. 

" Antonio," he cried, despair battling fiercely in his 
words, "I am married to a wife as dear to me as life 
itself. But life itself, my wife and all the world, would 
I lose, aye ! sacrifice them all if in so doing I could 
deliver you, my friend, from this devil." 

The lawyer from Padua stroked a smooth and rounded 
chin. 

"Your wife would give you little thanks for that," 
he murmured, "if she were by to hear you make the 
offer. 

Nor was Gratiano behind his friend in protestations 
of love. 

"Antonio," he cried huskily, wringing the young 




"A pound of that same merchant's flesh is yours. 



BELLARIO'S SUBSTITUTE 293 

merchant's hand, "I have a wife whom I protest I 
love. I would she were in Heaven, so that she might 
entreat for some change to be made in this currish 
Jew." 

The lawyer's clerk was close beside his master — no 
longer shy and diffident, but pert in the tilting of his 
head, whilst his lips were thrust forward in a pout as he 
listened to this last speech which appeared mightily to 
displease him. 

But to Shylock these farewells were over-long, and 
he pushed Gratiano aside. 

"We trifle time," he snarled. "I pray you pursue 
sentence." 

Balthazar still stroked his chin. 

"A pound of that same merchant's flesh is yours," 
he declared. "The court awards it and the law doth 
give it." 

It was as if the last stroke of a death-knell sounded. 

But Shylock laughed aloud. 

"Most rightful judge!" he cried. 

"And," went on the lawyer solemnly, "you must cut 
this flesh from off his breast. The law allows it, and 
the court awards it." 

"Most learned judge!" cried the Jew once more. "A 
sentence! Come, prepare!" 

He was close to Antonio now. Many of the mer- 
chants in the court had risen and stood with the other 
folk who crowded the place, huddled together, shudder- 
ing, whispering, gesticulating as though contemplating 
interference. 

The group of nobles too were talking in animated 
fashion, more indignant than pitying, with angry 
glances for the red-robed young lawyer, who stood in 



294 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



his place, a flaming figure of doom, with arm upraised, 
usurping as it seemed, the power and majesty of Duke 
Niccolo himself; whilst the Duke, as though only half 
realizing this, had risen from his seat as if about to 
forbid the execution of a hideous butchery. 

It was a moment of crisis, the blood of all spectators 
chilled by horror as they looked upon that small central 
knot of figures. 

Antonio, his breast already bared, in the midst, 
Bassanio and Gratiano beside him as though guarding 
him from the avenger who crept forward, his knife 
upraised, his face devilish in its malice, whilst behind 
him the sinister balances swayed softly up and down, 
awaiting their bloody burden — and beyond the table, 
the erect figure of Balthazar the Paduan, watching 
intently, his hand resting on the shoulder of his slim, 
dingily-clad clerk. 

Then, before any could interfere, the clear tones of 
the young lawyer rang out: 

"Tarry, Shylock," he cried. " There is something 
else first. " 



CHAPTER XXIX 

JUSTICE ! 

THE Jew turned, glowering over his shoulder. 
"What mean you?" he snarled. 
The lawyer held up the bond. 

"This bond/' said he, "doth give you here no jot of 
blood. The words expressly are — a pound of flesh. Take 
then your bond — take your pound of flesh; but, in cut- 
ting it, if you shed one drop of Christian blood, your 
lands and goods are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
unto the State of Venice. " 

Shylock slowly faced round, the light fading from his 
eyes, his complexion changing from dusky swarthiness 
to ashen gray. 

A knell indeed ! But rung for him this time. 

A crack of doom in the hour of triumph which seemed 
to stun him down to some lowest hell at a moment when 
all the longings and desire of years had been gathered to 
fruition. 

But Gratiano had flung his arm about Bassanio's neck, 
whilst the latter, too dazed at first to read the full mean- 
ing of these words of hope, stood gaping like the rest of 
the spectators, whose nerves had been previously strung 
to breaking point. 

"0 upright judge!" cried Gratiano, joy ovemhelrning 
him in merry laughter and mockery, which, whilst half 
tears in gladness for Antonio, was for the rest a spice 
of devilment flavored to chastise the stricken Shylock. 

(295) 



296 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

"Mark, Jew," he rallied, wagging his head towards 
the old man, who still clutched his knife to his own breast. 
"O learned judge!" 

Balthazar the Paduan raised his hand. 

"Will you see to this?" he asked the silent Hebrew. 
"For, as you urge justice, be assured you shall have 
justice — more than you desire." 

Again Gratiano's merry laugh rang high through the 
court, as he pointed a mocking finger at his enemy, then 
slapped his thigh in exquisite enjoyment. 

"O learned judge!" he cried. "Mark, Jew — a learned 
judge." 

Shy lock shuffled forward. He was as a man in a 
dream. A man, too, grown suddenly very, very old — 
almost palsied in his movements, whilst the knife — that 
beautiful knife so zealously sharpened — fell clattering 
to the ground at the feet of the man who should have 
been its owner's victim. 

"I take his offer then," he muttered dully, stretching 
out his lean, claw-like hand. "Pay the bond thrice. 
Let the Christian go." 

Bassanio was eager in his compliance. 

"Here is the money," he cried, extending the leathern 
bag. 

But the lawyer from Padua interposed. 

"Softly," quoth he. "The Jew shall have justice. 
Softly — no haste. He shall have nothing but the 
penalty." 

"O Jew!" groaned Gratiano, writhing in delight. 
"An upright judge — a learned judge." 

"Therefore," continued Balthazar, "prepare to cut 
off the flesh. Shed no blood, and cut precisely a pound 
of flesh — if you take more or less than a just pound — 



JUSTICE! 297 

be it but so much as makes it light or heavy in the sub- 
stance, or the division of the twentieth part of one poor 
scruple — nay! if the scale do turn but in the estimation 
of a hair — you die and all your goods are confiscate. " 

Shylock shrank back, glancing around him as a rat 
which, begirt by terrier dogs, watches to find the best 
way of escape. 

Hatred was chastened now by failure, the lust of pride 
was brought low, yet not so low but that the Jew strove 
with bitter courage to drag its tattered cloak about 
him. 

Sullen he stood, fierce and dogged in his discomfiture, 
whilst Gratiano continued to point the finger of scorn. 

"A second Daniel," mimicked the merry Venetian. 
"A Daniel, Jew. Now, infidel, I have you on the hip!" 

No sign gave Shylock, save to draw his gabardine more 
closely around him as though the atmosphere of the 
court were cold. 

"Why doth the Jew pause?" asked the Paduan. 
"Take you your forfeiture, Shylock." 

But the old man only scowled. 

"Give me my principal and let me go," he demanded. 

Again Bassanio, transported by joy, left Antonio's 
side to proffer the gold. 

"I have it ready," cried he joyfully. "Here it is." 

But the young lawyer motioned him aside. 

"He has refused it in the open court," said he sternly. 
"He shall have merely justice — and his bond." 

"A Daniel, say I," gurgled Gratiano in supreme 
enjoyment. "A second Daniel! I thank you, Jew, for 
teaching me that word." 

Shylock raised his bent head for a moment. 

"Shall I not even have my principal?" he asked in 
hollow tones. 



298 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

The lawyer shook his head. "You shall have nothing 
but the forfeiture," he declared, a to be so taken at your 
peril, Jew." 

Inexorable decree. 

The old Jew clenched his fists, shaking them vehe- 
mently, as though calling down curses upon those whom 
he had sworn to bring beneath his heel, those whom 
he had hoped to make afraid, despairing, brought low by 
their agony of loss, but who now gathered around sneer- 
ing and baiting him in his failure. 

"Why, then," he snarled, "the devil give him good of 
it! I'll stay no longer question." 

He shuffled towards the door, a huddled, broken old 
man, so evil in his misery that the most tender-hearted 
had no pity for him. 

But his misery had not yet culminated. Balthazar 
the Paduan had not finished his case yet. This Daniel, 
whom Shylock had deemed his friend, read deeper into 
the law, and called back Antonio's remorseless creditor 
once more. 

"Tarry, Jew," he cried. "The law hath yet another 
hold on you." 

Slowly Shylock returned. He had no strength left 
for argument. The passion of his hate, the despair of 
failure had broken him, leaving him weak and exhausted 
physically. 

He seemed a very, very old man as he stood there — 
yet it was an age which none respected. 

The Paduan lawyer, half turned towards the Duke, 
half towards Shylock, was rearranging his papers. An- 
tonio and Bassanio had withdrawn to the background, 
too happy in this unlooked-for deliverance to trouble 
about the further issues of the case. 



JUSTICE! 299 

"It is enacted by the law of Venice/' quoth the lawyer 
sternly, "that if it be proved against an alien that by 
direct or indirect attempts he seeks the life of any citizen, 
he whose life he thus unlawfully seeks shall seize one- 
half of his goods; the other half comes to the privy coffer 
of the State; and the offender's life lies at the mercy of 
the Duke only, against all other voice. This, Shylock, 
is your present predicament, since it appears you have 
contrived against the very life of the defendant. So, 
since you have incurred the danger of this judgment, 
down on your knees and ask mercy of the Duke." 

Shylock did not stir. His chin was sunk forward on 
his breast, and so motionless did he stand that it seemed 
as though he swooned. 

"Beg leave to hang yourself," mocked Gratiano, 
remorseless in his gibing, "though, since your wealth is 
forfeit to the State, you have not the value of a cord left, 
and so must be hanged at the State's expense." 

The Duke silenced the speaker with a frown, then 
turned to Shylock, speaking with the grave dignity of 
one who at last finds the giving of sentence easy. 

"Shylock," said he, "you shall see the difference of 
the Christian spirit. I pardon you your life before you 
ask it. For half your wealth it is Antonio's. The other 
half comes to the State, though your humility may help 
to change this to a fine." 

Shylock looked to where the Duke sat upon his 
judgment seat. His lean hands gripped at the folds of 
his robe above his breast, he panted as a man exhausted 
by running, despair was on his haggard, ashen face, and 
pride too, the indomitable pride of the Jew which neither 
humiliation, despair nor failure could utterly crush. 

"Nay," he cried fiercely, "take my life and all. Par- 



300 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



don not that ! You take my house, when you take away 
the prop that sustains it. You take my life when you 
take the means by which I live." 

The Paduan lawyer looked towards the two who stood 
apart, rejoicing in the gladness of reunion. 

" Antonio, " quoth he very clearly, "what mercy can 
you render your enemy?" 

Gratiano shrugged his shoulders. 

U A halter gratis," he muttered. " Nothing else, for 
Heaven's sake." 

But Antonio stepped forward, the same quiet dignity 
marking his bearing as aforetime. 

He bowed before Duke Niccolo. 

"So please my lord the Duke," he replied, "and all 
the court, to quit the fine for one half of his goods, I 
am content; so he will let me have the other half in use — 
to render it at his death to the gentleman who lately 
stole his daughter. Moreover, in gratitude for mercy 
shown him, he must presently become a Christian and 
also record here in this court a gift of all he dies possessed 
to his son Lorenzo and his daughter." 

Shylock's face was hidden — he would not look upon 
the man who, if his malice had been rewarded, should 
now have been dead. 

But fate had been too strong for the Jew, and a slim 
stripling from Padua, learned beyond his years, had 
robbed him of his prey. 

Yet pride forbade the old Jew to show outward sign 
of his inward agony. 

"He shall do this," declared Duke Niccolo, unable to 
conceal his relief at this ruling of the case, "or else I 
recant the pardon I have lately pronounced." 

"Are you content, Jew?" asked Balthazar. "What 
do you say?" 






JUSTICE! 301 

"I am content." 

The words were spoken monotonously but quite 
audibly. The lawyer motioned to one of the clerks of 
the court, bidding him briefly draw a deed of gift. 

Shy lock raised a trembling hand to his head. 

"I pray you give me leave to go from hence," he 
requested the Duke, swaying as he spoke. "I — I am 
not well. Send the deed after me and I will sign it." 

He clutched at a railing to steady himself; it was 
very evident his weakness was no feint. 

"Get you gone," replied Duke Niccolo, "but fail not 
in signing." 

Without another word the old man shuffled off, reel- 
ing in his gait, pitiable in his pride and misery had he 
shown one spark of pity for his foe. 

As it was men did not forbear to laugh at Gratiano's 
farewell taunt. 

"In christening," cried the latter, "you shall have 
two godfathers. Had / been judge you should have had 
ten more — to bring you to the gallows — not the font." 

But Shylock made no sign of having heard the speech ; 
he was deaf just now to any sound but the knell which 
seemed to ring the warning of his own death in his ears. 

He had failed of revenge. Not only so. Vengeance, 
like some mongrel cur, had turned on his cherisher — 
and devoured him. 



CHAPTER XXX 



THE GUERDON 



THE Court emptied slowly. As men of all classes 
poured out into the street they were busy dis- 
cussing the strange events of the day. So certain 
had seemed Antonio's fate; so swift the turning of the 
tables by the clever arguments of the youthful lawyer 
from Padua. 

All were agreed with the great Bellario's commenda- 
tion of this wise young doctor, who had surely saved 
Antonio's life that day, and saved Venice, too, the 
shame of a bloody stain upon her records of justice. 

On the Rialto, the Piazza, in palace and wine shop, 
nothing was talked of that evening but the case of Shy- 
lock and Antonio, and how the former had been con- 
founded and the latter saved by a lawyer from Padua 
whose chin was smooth as a girl's and his shape as slim 
as a boy's. 

Duke Niccolo, however, had not immediately left the 
court, but had withdrawn to an inner room accompanied 
by some of his nobles and followed at his request by the 
young Paduan doctor, Bassanio and Antonio. 

The Duke was vastly relieved that the case had been 
settled in so highly satisfactory a manner. His motto, 
" Justice in the Palace," remained unchallenged; yet 
Antonio Cainello had been rescued from an unmerited 
fate, and a cruel usurer had received a drastic lesson 
which would be a future warning to all his tribe. 

(302) 



THE GUERDON 303 

So da Ponte's manner was very gracious in addressing 
Bellario's young substitute. 

"Sir," quoth he courteously, "you will accompany 
us to the Palace? I would fain have you dine with us 
presently." 

The young man bowed respectfully. 

"I humbly desire pardon of Your Grace," he replied, 
"but urgent business recalls me to Padua this evening, 
and I may not delay my return." 

The Duke seemed disappointed. This paragon of 
wisdom interested him, and he would have enjoyed 
bettering his acquaintance. 

But he saw it was useless to press the invitation, and 
after a few very courteous expressions of regret, together 
with warm praise and gratitude for the service which 
he declared was no less to the State than to Antonio 
himself, Duke Niccolo took his departure back to the 
Palace, followed by his train of nobles and attendants. 

Bassanio and Antonio were left alone with the lawyer, 
who seemed anxious to escape their thanks — but could 
not contrive it. 

Bassanio — ever the more impetuous — barred the way, 
his handsome features flushed by a joy which set his 
whole face aglow. 

"Most worthy and illustrious Signior," said he, 
extending the leathern bag which he had twice proffered 
to Shylock, "I and my friend have, by your wisdom, 
this day been acquitted of grievous penalties. We do 
earnestly crave your acceptance of this bag of three 
thousand ducats as some slight acknowledgment of our 
debt." 

"And," added Antonio softly, "stand indebted over 
and above, in love and service to you evermore." 



304 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

But, to the surprise of both, the lawyer shook his 
head, obviously intent in escaping both thanks and 
reward. 

"He is well paid, Signiors," he replied, "who is well 
satisfied. My best reward — the only one I desired — 
was in saving you, Messer Antonio. And having won 
success in this, I count myself well paid. So, as I am 
in haste, I take my leave, praying you know me when 
we meet again." 

Still Bassanio barred the way. 

"Dear sir," he urged, "I implore you take some 
remembrance of us as a tribute, not a fee? Grant 
me two things, I pray you. Not to deny me, and to 
pardon me." 

It was strange how the lawyer avoided his petitioner's 
glance, keeping his eyelids lowered and his face in shadow 
under his flat cap. 

"You press me far," he replied diffidently, "and 
therefore I will yield. Give me your gloves — I"ll wear 
them for your sake. And for your love, I'll take this 
ring from you. Do not draw back your hand. I'll take 
no more — and you in love shall not deny me this." 

But Bassanio had indeed withdrawn the hand on which 
Portia's ring glittered so sparklingly. The young man's 
cheeks were suffused with shamed blushes and he dis- 
played the greatest embarrassment. 

"This ring, Signior," he stammered. "Alas, it — 
it is but a trifle. I'll not shame myself to give you this!" 

"I'll have nothing else, but only this," retorted the 
young Paduan, with some animation. "And now, 
methinks, I have a mind to it." 

Still Bassanio hesitated. 

"There's more depends on this than on the value," 



THE GUERDON 305 

he explained. "But in its place I will give you the most 
valuable ring in Venice, and find it out by proclamation. 
Only for this, I pray you, pardon me." 

But the other merely shrugged his shoulders, after 
the fashion of a man sorely offended, and moved towards 
the door, beckoning his clerk. 

"I see, Signior," he replied coldly. "You are liberal 
in offers. You taught me first to beg, and now teach me 
how a beggar should be answered." 

He reached the door, raised the curtain and would 
have gone without further farewell, but Bassanio followed 
him. 

"Signior," he pleaded, "this ring was given me by 
my wife, who, when she put it on, made me vow I should 
neither sell, nor give, nor lose it." 

The lawyer did not turn. "That excuse," he retorted 
scathingly, "serves many men to save their gifts. If 
your wife be not a mad woman, and learns how well I 
have deserved this ring, she would not be angry at your 
bestowing it. However — peace be with you." 

Bassanio watched the slender figure in its red robes 
pass down the passage followed by the young clerk, and 
heavily he sighed as he saw both disappear round the 
corner. 

Antonio's hand was on his arm, the merchant's tones 
were urgent in their beseeching. 

"Bassanio," he begged, "let him have the ring? Let 
his deserts and my love weigh in this against your wife's 
command." 

The young noble could not withstand the plea, though, 
strangely enough, Portia's image was most vividly before 
him, the echo of her voice seemed to ring in his ears. 
Portia! Of whom was it that that Paduan doctor had 

20 



306 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



reminded him? Illusive fancy — it could not be Portia 
herself? His fair and lovely lady could have no resem- 
blance with yon dark-skinned youth. 

Antonio still urged his request, and, with his friend 
new- won to him from the grave itself, Bassanio could do 
nothing else than yield. Yet even for Antonio, and the 
claim of gratitude which urged him too, he was reluctant 
to draw his lady's ring from his finger and hand it to 
Gratiano. 

"Gratiano," he begged of the young man who had 
been lingering in the passage without, "I pray you 
hasten after the doctor from Padua, to whom we owe so 
much to-day; give him this ring, and bring him if you 
can to Antonio's house." 

Gratiano took the ring, turning it curiously in his 
hand, whilst he wondered greatly, knowing from whom 
Bassanio had accepted it — and on what conditions. 
Yet a shrewd glance at his friend's face warned him to 
hold that readily-wagging tongue of his. So without a 
question he hurried away in pursuit of the lawyer and 
his clerk, who had by this time reached the street and 
were turning down one of the narrow lanes which ran 
parallel with a canal. 

Signior Balthazar, the learned friend of Dr. Bellario, 
had caught his clerk's hand in very eager fashion, as they 
turned out of sight of the court. 

"Nerissa," he whispered, "quick! We must reach 
the house of old Lisabetta in the Via Cheriati and rid 
ourselves of these disguises. Santa Maria! To be a 
woman again!" 

The dingy clerk echoed the low laugh. 

"You will essay to return to Belmont to-night, lady?" 
she asked breathlessly. 



THE GUERDON 307 

"No, no," replied Portia di Nerlini, glancing nervously 
behind her. "It is already late, and we shall sleep 
safelier under my old nurse's roof. Our husbands are 
not returning till the morrow's noon, so we shall be home 
in time to welcome them. If only I could have won 
Bassanio's ring I should be very content! What a jest 
we should have played, making accusation that other 
fair ones had claimed our guerdons. Nay, more slowly, 
Nerissa, we must consider carefully, for, before you don 
petticoats again, I want my nimble clerk to search out 
the house of Shylock the Jew, give him this deed and 
make him sign it. I think the Signior Lorenzo would 
be grateful for the sight of it, and I would have all glad 
hearts at Belmont on our return, though it shall be our 
humor, if may be, to play the teasing scolds first. If I 
had but that ring! I do not give up hope that Bassanio 
will repent his churlishness and seek me out." 

"If I mistake not, lady, someone already does so. 
There are footsteps behind us, and I would wager my 
hopes of happiness that I heard Gratiano's voice." 

"Gratiano? Softly, softly then. Without doubt he 
comes with my ring from my lord. If this be sooth I 
will ask his favor in taking you on your way to Shylock's 
house, whilst I seek Lisabetta — and my proper self." 

Nerissa laughed beneath her breath. 

"If Gratiano takes the clerk to the Jew," she mur- 
mured naughtily, "I'll wager the clerk finds some way 
to jew him of his wife's gift and then chide him on the 
morrow for a false swearer. We live in merry times, 
lady." 

The voice of Gratiano calling them to stay checked 
Portia's reply, and the next moment the young Venetian 
came panting after them. 



308 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



" Signior," he gasped, holding out a ring to the dis- 
guised Portia, "you are well overtaken. My Lord 
Bassanio Ramberti on consideration prays your accept- 
ance of this ring, and further entreats your company at 
dinner.'' 

Portia took the extended trinket between slim fingers. 

"I pray you tell your friend/ ' she replied suavely, 
"that I most gratefully accept this ring, though at the 
same time I beg you to make my excuses, since it is 
impossible I should dine with him, having already ex- 
plained to the Duke that necessity recalls me home. 
Yet, fair sir, I shall be greatly in your debt if before taking 
my message you would show my youth here old Shylock's 
house?" 

Gratiano bowed. 

"Most willingly," he answered. "Come, boy, this 
way. Illustrious Signior, I am forever your devoted 
servant." 

Portia returned his courteous salutations with easy 
grace, and having slipped Bassanio's ring upon her ringer 
and bidding Nerissa seek her out speedily at the house 
she knew of, turned away in the direction in which old 
Lisabetta Strozzi, her childhood's nurse, and faithful 
friend, lived. 

Nerissa was smiling slyly to herself as she followed 
Gratiano along the ill-lighted street to where Shylock the 
Jew lived. She wondered what this very patronizing 
gentleman would say if he guessed that the shabby youth 
he treated so cavalierly were his own wife. 



CHAPTER XXXI 

THE HOME-COMING 

^ T ORENZO!" 

"Why did you call, carissima?" 
"Only because the moon shines yonder 
amongst the trees, and whilst we wait the coming of the 
Lady Portia why should we not go out? Is it too late 
to dream our dreams, dear love, because we have told 
each other so often the riddle of them?" 

The young Venetian laughed as he flung his arm about 
his wife, drawing her down the shallow flight of steps 
towards the terrace and the more distant groves of trees. 

Here at Belmont they had found the joy of an un- 
clouded happiness, since here they seemed in safety 
from the haunting fear which had dogged their steps at 
Genoa. 

Jessica especially had known what reason there was 
not only to fear the anger of her father but the remorse- 
less vendetta of Aaron Tubal. And as she recounted 
her fears to her husband, Lorenzo had bitterly reproached 
himself with selfishness, for he was too poor to be able to 
seek safer asylum far from his native Venice, since 
he had no means to procure a livelihood such as his 
business in the city won him; and so recklessly had they 
squandered the Jew's ducats during the first weeks of 
their marriage, that only a mere handful of coins stood 
between them and abject penury. There was nothing, 
as far as Lorenzo could see, but to return to Venice and 

(309) 



310 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

his business there; yet this would also mean a return 
to the vengeance of Shylock and Tubal. 

But to-night Lorenzo the light-hearted put such sordid 
cares to one side as completely as though they had never 
existed, whilst he gave himself up to the enjoyment of 
a romantic hour. His love to his pretty Jessica was as 
passionate as ever. He could have dreamed thus with 
her throughout an eternity, not troubling in the least 
even if he might never see Venice again. 

It was the fear of what that return might cost them 
both which had weighed on his mind. 

Yet now the moonlight fell on wide lawns and caught 
the sparkling waters of a softly plashing fountain. 
Jessica was beside him, tragedy and poverty far away. 

So, with happy carelessness, Lorenzo laughed, kissing 
his wife's upturned face with all the ardor of a love* . 

"The moon shines brightly, " whispered he. "In 
such a night, when the sweet wind did gently kiss the 
trees, Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls and 
sighed his soul towards the Grecian tents where Cressida 
lay that night. " 

Jessica nestled closer to his embrace. 

"In such a night," she breathed, yielding to the rapture 
of the dream, "did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew; 
and saw the lion's shadow ere himself, so ran dismayed 
away." 

"In such a night," laughed Lorenzo, as they crossed 
the moonlit lawns, "stood Dido with a willow in her 
hand upon the wild sea banks, and waved her love to 
come again to Carthage." 

"In such a night," mused Jessica, half-cradled in 
lover-arms, "Medea gathered the enchanted herbs 
that should renew old ^Eson." 



THE HOME-COMING 311 

"In such a night," teased Lorenzo, "did Jessica steal 
from the wealthy Jew and with a thriftless lover, 
ran away from Venice." 

Jessica pouted her red lips, looking up through half- 
closed eyes, which sparkled where the moonbeams kissed 
them. 

"In such a night," she mocked, "did young Lorenzo 
swear he loved her well; stealing her soul with many 
vows of faith — and ne'er a true one!" 

"And in such a night," he retorted glibly, "did pretty 
Jessica, like a little shrew, slander her love and he for- 
gave her." 

Whereat they fell to laughter and kisses like the light- 
hearted children they were, tender and teasing by turns, 
as they stood beside the silver-shining fountain, under 
cypress shade, knowing no fear or pain till the moonlight 
fading showed them the blacker shrouding of the night. 

It was then that Jessica, her head upon her husband's 
breast, whispered a fear which ever returned goblin- 
fashion in the dark. 

"If we could always stay here — always dreaming — 
always loving!" she sighed. "But I grow afraid, Lorenzo, 
thinking less of my father's anger — though that must 
be great — than of Tubal's jealous vengeance. You will 
not return to Venice, dear love of mine?" 

But Lorenzo, recalling his state of poverty and the 
grim necessity for that return, could not reply, only 
holding the slim little figure to his heart and whispering 
passionate vows of love and protection again and again, 
till Jessica allowed herself to be persuaded that there 
would be moonlight nights in which they two should 
dream even in Venice; and so, presently, they went back 
to the palazzo, where long since the servants had retired 



312 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



to rest. But little did Lorenzo and his wife guess, as they 
looked out upon the sleeping darkness which surrounded 
this safe asylum of theirs, that away in Venice an old 
man bent cursing and groaning over a parchment scroll, 
most unwillingly setting his name to the paper which 
should be the seal to his daughter's happiness and 
freedom. 

So the night passed, and at length the slow dawn 
broke in eastern skies. 

It was not without surprise that Lorenzo and Jessica 
received a hard-riding messenger, who bade them 
prepare for the speedy return of the mistress of the 
mansion. 

Sweat and dust covered the man's face, so that Jessica 
wondered whether it were possible he had only ridden 
from the Convent of St. Ursula scarcely two miles away. 

But the fellow seemed in no mood to be questioned, 
and having delivered his message, went stumbling away 
in search of refreshment. 

"They keep empty cellars it seems up yonder," quoth 
Lorenzo whimsically, as he pointed in the direction of the 
hill on which the convent stood, "and poor Pietro 
must have the knack of collecting the dust of the highway 
down his throat. But come, Jessica, this shall — if it 
please the saints to answer our poor prayers — be a happy 
dawn. So let us seek Florio, and bid the good old man 
set the musicians piping to hail their lady's return and 
give her welcome home.' , 

But Florio had already heard Pietro 's news and did 
not need the Signior Lorenzo's hint concerning the 
welcome of a beloved mistress. 

Being an old and favored servant, he was perhaps a 
little resentful of the stranger's interference, though 



THE HOME-COMING 313 

brief ill-humor passed under the tactful gentleness of 
Jessica's suggestions. 

So all was gay bustle at the Palazzo di Nerlini, and 
everything was in readiness long ere Lorenzo and his wife 
paced side by side down the wide avenue, to be first in 
their greeting of this noble chatelaine, to whom they 
already felt they owed much. 

The sound of returning coach wheels was heard as 
they paused near the great gates, and as they drew aside 
for the Lady Portia's carriage to pass, Portia herself 
cried to her coachman to stop. 

Then, quickly alighting, with Nerissa, demure and 
modest as though she would have died sooner than 
dream of strutting in manly hose and doublet, following 
her, the lady dismissed the coach, embraced Jessica 
very kindly, and gave her hand for Lorenzo's kiss. 

"Dear lady," cried the Venetian gallantly, " welcome 
home to Belmont." 

Portia laughed joyously. She was radiant as any 
Aurora this morning, in her beauty and happiness, nor 
was there any stain on her fair skin to show how she had 
once played the part of dusky Balthazar, whose wig and 
robes were already on their way back to Padua, with her 
grateful thanks to her illustrious cousin Bellario. 

"We have been praying for our husbands' welfare," 
she lied naughtily, "who speed, we hope, the better for 
our words. Are they returned?" 

How her blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight, whilst 
laughter rippled like dancing beams over her lovely 
face! 

"They are not here yet, Signora," replied Lorenzo 
respectfully, "but just now we received the messenger 
who warns us of their coming." 



314 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



The lady nodded, beckoning to her maid. 

"Go in, Nerissa," she commanded. "Give order to 
my servants that they take no note at all of our having 
been absent. Nor you — Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you." 

She turned impulsively from one to other of her per- 
plexed guests, whilst Nerissa ran blithely off across 
dew-sprent grass, light as a lapwing on her mistress' 
errand. 

As for Portia, she was like a girl just home from school, 
laughing, radiant, bewitching in this new mood. 

Yet presently, after they had drunk their chocolate 
together on the wide-arched veranda, she grew a thought 
more pensive, the bright color flushing her cheeks at 
sound of distant horsehoofs beating the dusty highway. 
Was she shy, rilled with new-born maiden bashfulness 
at this meeting with her lord? 

Yet, even as those who watched her asked the question 
to themselves, she was laughing more merrily than they 
all, whilst in her freshly-donned gown of blue velvet, 
whose high ruff framed the lovely, girlish face as a rose- 
bud is garnished by its leaves, she led the way down the 
veranda steps. 

"Surely they are come," cried she, "and we must go 
to welcome and rejoice with these our lords." 

And her sweet lips parted in dewy expectancy as she 
held out her hand to Nerissa, whilst with the other she 
clasped Jessica's waist. 

But Lorenzo, left forlorn behind such a galaxy of youth 
and beauty, piped on a doleful note. 

"It may be, lady," said he, "that they return in 
sorrow. For, though I would not be banned as a croaker, 
I cannot forget the sad case Antonio Cainello found him- 
self in." 



THE HOME-COMING 315 

But Jessica, being Shylock's daughter, was the only 
one of that trio to shudder at her husband's words. 
Portia only caroled the more gayly, refusing to be sad on 
such a morn, though she gave no good reason to Lorenzo 
for her mirth, save the fairness of the day. 

"Fie!" she scolded. "The sun shines too brightly 
and my heart beats too lightly for ill to be near. It 
is a day for mirth, not tears; life, not death; and love in 
place of hate." 

Nor had she finished on an upward lilting note before 
three men came into sight at the farther end of the long 
terrace,, and Lorenzo's gloomy prophecies gave place to 
his glad cry of relief, as in the central figure he recognized 
Antonio Cainello hirnself. 

Be sure that was a merry greeting on a merry morn, 
though at first Antonio stepped aside to speak with 
Lorenzo and his wife, leaving those other four, twain and 
twain, to welcome each other as love should teach them. 

No shadow was there in earth and sky for Portia di 
Nerlini that day; no, nor for Nerissa her friend and maid; 
yet both girls, looking deeply into their husbands' eyes, 
fancied to see a lurking trouble, carefully hidden indeed 
and only observable by those who sought it. 

Yet, because, after all. a woman, like a tiger or a cat. 
has the element of teasing cruelty in her nature — be it of 
the gentlest fashion — both Portia and Nerissa laughed 
more gayly in spying that trouble by which they meant 
to profit. 

But for the moment the time had not arrived, so 
Bassanio, leading forward his dearest friend, brought 
him before the lady who found him less stranger to her 
than she to him. 

Yet so demure was her stiff curtsy that none could 



316 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



have suspected they had clasped hands the day before 
as comrades and equals. 

"You will give welcome to my friend, carissima," 
said Bassanio in his eager, impetuous tones. "This is 
the man, this is Antonio, to whom I am so infinitely 
bound." 

And his gray eyes kindled as he looked from that 
dear friend to his yet dearer love, thinking how fair she 
must seem to Antonio's eyes since she never had been 
fairer in his own. 

Portia was smiling rarely as the young merchant 
raised her hand to his lips, but she looked at Bassanio. 

"You should in all sense be much bound to him, 
since, as I hear, he was much bound for you," she replied 
quaintly. 

Antonio raised himself, looking with affection to his 
friend. "No more than I am well acquitted of," he 
answered. 

"Signior," said Portia gently, "you are very welcome 
to our house. I hope that we may show it in better 
proof than words." 

And she glanced across the terrace to where, at the 
head of a flight of stone steps, Nerissa stood beside 
Gratiano. 

Lovers they should have been, since so lately had they 
plighted their troth to love and cherish each other till 
life should end. Yet, unless appearances were vastly 
deceiving, something very like a quarrel was in progress. 

Nerissa had her back to her lord and master and was 
moving towards the group on the terrace, her rounded 
chin tilted high, lips scornful, cheeks flushed, whilst 
Gratiano followed her, protesting volubly. 

"By my love I swear you do me wrong," they heard 



THE HOME-COMING 317 

him crying, his voice high-pitched in distress. "In 
faith, Nerissa, I gave it to the judge's clerk. Would he 
had reproached me as the vilest ingrate sooner, since you, 
dear love, take it so much to heart." 

Nerissa did not even deign to reply to this protestation. 
She seemed intent on tearing a tiny lace handkerchief 
to pieces between trembling fingers. Temper, not tears, 
sparkled in her black eyes — in truth, she was very 
defiant. 

Portia, one hand set on her hip, fell to laughing. 

"A quarrel, ho, already!" she teased. "What's 
the matter?" 

It was Gratiano who, in sore trouble, made haste to 
explain away his guilt. 

"About a hoop of gold, Signora," he said. "A paltry 
ring that she gave me, whose poesy was, for all the world, 
like cutler's poetry upon a knife, 'Love me and leave 
me not.'" 

The explanation lashed Nerissa into words, which 
came pouring forth in sobbing accusation, denunciation 
and condemnation. 

"What talk you of the poesy or the value?" she 
cried, dabbing her eyes with the torn fragments of her 
handkerchief. "You — you swore to me, when I did give 
it you, that you w — would wear it till the hour of your 
death; and — and that it should lie with you in your 
g — grave. For your oath's sake, even if not for mine, 
you should have kept it. Gave it a judge's clerk! Oh! 
Oh! — the tale! But well I know the clerk who had it 
will ne'er wear hair on his chin." 

Gratiano groaned in helplessness of spirit against 
such a tornado. "He will if he lives to be a man," he 
replied. 



318 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



Nerissa was round on him in a trice, as an angry 
kitten upon a sportive terrier. 

"Aye/' she sniffed, "if a woman live to be a man." 

"Now, by this hand!" vowed Gratiano, very earnestly, 
"I gave it to a youth — a kind of boy; a little, scrubbed 
boy, no higher than yourself — the judge's clerk; a 
prating boy, who begged it for a fee till I could not for 
my heart deny it him." 

Nerissa hid her face in both her hands, whilst her 
shoulders shook — as though with sobbing. 

Portia regarded Gratiano the culprit severely. 

"You were to blame," she said. "I must be plain 
with you, Signior. You were wrong to part so lightly 
with your wife's first gift — a gift placed upon your finger 
with many oaths, so that it should have been riveted 
by faith into your flesh." 

She looked confidently towards Bassanio, over whose 
smiling face a cloud of guilty uneasiness had gathered. 

"Now," she continued, "I gave my love a ring and 
made him swear never to part with it, and here he stands; 
I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it, nor pluck 
it from his ringer for all the wealth of the world. In 
faith, Gratiano, you give your wife cause for grief by this 
unkindness, which would have maddened me had it 
been practised at my expense." 

Bassanio had edged away from the group, making 
pretence to pluck a flower from a shrub near. He was in 
mortal fear lest his lady-love should call for proof of that 
highly prized faith ; and even meditated whether he had 
not better cut off his finger, vowing he had been so maimed 
in defending his treasure. 

Could he not, however, change this argument to a 
more profitable subject, and one less likely to cause 
heart burnings? 



THE HOME-COMING 319 

Alas! In excusing himself Gratiano did not hesitate 
to accuse another on the old supposition that blackening 
a friend or foe helps to whiten one's own character. 

"My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away," he retorted 
sullenly, "to the judge that begged it — and indeed 
deserved it too And then the boy, his clerk, who took 
some pains in writing, begged mine. And neither master 
nor man would take aught but the two rings." 

Bassanio did not dare to meet his lady's gaze; he was 
pretending to be absorbed in fastening a flower in his 
doublet — yet every word of Gratiano 's speech had rung 
a knell in his heart. 

And Portia was regarding him — did he not know it 
only too well? Did he not feel the burning accusation 
of those blue eyes before he met their fire? 

"What ring gave you, my lord?" he heard her ques- 
tion in coldly measured tones. "Not that, I hope, 
which you received of me?" 

Bassanio pulled himself together with a mighty effort. 
Never had he in all his life felt so conscience-stricken, 
so mean and guilty. 

Yet he tried to smile in would-be whimsical fashion as 
he stretched out his hand. 

"If I could add a lie to my fault," he confessed, "I 
would deny it — but you see, my finger hath not the 
ring upon it; it is gone." 

He dropped his head a little as he made the simple 
statement which sounded so bald when voiced. Yet 
how should he broider the fact with argument, since he 
could not deny it? 

And denial only would satisfy the woman who stood 
before him. 

Antonio had moved away with Lorenzo and Jessica, 



320 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

not having waited to hear the full controversy, since in 
staying to listen they might seem to intrude. So there 
was no intercessor to cry "Mea culpa" — nor would 
either Bassanio or Gratiano have shirked the blame their 
ladies put upon them by blaming in turn their friend. 

Each was answerable to his mistress — and it seemed 
that neither Portia nor Nerissa was minded to be lenient. 

Recalling their many oaths, perhaps the forsworn 
lovers read their guilt in clearer light than the deed had 
shown itself in Venice, when the rings had been bestowed 
by generous impulse born of impetuous natures. 

Yet, guilty as they now seemed, surely the doom 
pronounced was hard enough. 

Empty fingers told their own tale. 

So void, summed Portia, were their wearers' hearts 
of truth. 

And false lord she would have none of, nay, nor 
Nerissa either. 

"Till I see my ring," the lady cried — and kept her 
blue eyes hidden from Bassanio's despairing gaze, "I 
will not again look upon your face, false lover that you 
show yourself." 

"And I — as always wait upon my lady," added 
Nerissa. "Her will is also mine, as you must under- 
stand, false Gratiano." 

So they turned away, crossing the terrace and re- 
entering the mansion, without a backward glance, leav- 
ing their new-wedded lords to stare upon each other's 
moody countenance and wonder what perverse devil had 
marred the beauty of that sunny morn by whispering 
so vile a misinterpretation of their impulsive action into 
the ears of wayward womanhood. 

And where, alas! were Balthazar of Padua and his 



THE HOME-COMING 



321 



stripling clerk to be found? — and when found how would 
they be persuaded to return gifts which had cost their 
donors so dearly? 

Bassanio groaned aloud. 

But Gratiano, forgetful of gratitude, cursed the whim 
of a learned doctor's clerk. 



21 



CHAPTER XXXII 



A SWEET CONFESSION 



ii 



M 



ADAM!" 

Portia turned impatiently, a letter held 
in her hand, whilst she scarcely concealed 
the yawn of weary boredom as she stretched a free arm 
above her head. 

"Well, Nerissa?" she demanded tartly. 

Nerissa came to the side of the great carved chair in 
which her lady sat, facing the window. She was smil- 
ing slyly. 

"Gratiano hath written to me, madam/ ' she observed, 
half extending her hand which also held a letter, "and 
sent it by Stephano." 

i Portia laughed, sat up, and tossed a loosened coil of 
fair hair back from her forehead. 

"My Lord Bassanio hath also written to me," she 
mimicked, "and sent it by Balthazar. I'll vow the 
pair of them are of a tale, Nerissa. Come! you shall 
tell me what thy Gratiano says?" 

Nerissa flushed, whilst the dimples played merrily over 
her smooth, round cheeks. 

"He complains, lady," said she, "that I should so 
falsely accuse him of having bestowed the ring he had of 
me on a woman. By every saint in Christendom he 
swears most solemnly that he gave the ring in question 
to the clerk of the young doctor who saved Signior 
Antonio's life He argues — as though he himself were 

(322) 



A SWEET CONFESSION 323 

a lawyer bred and bom — that the gift was yielded at 
the lad's importunate request, whilst he, on the impulse 
of a moment, when joy at Antonio's salvation made him 
recklessly generous, found it impossible to refuse the 
plea. Yet now he is at pains to vilify the poor clerk 
whose whim has lost him his wife's favor." 

Portia laughed heartily. Holding the key to the jest, 
they could afford to be amused, whilst the love of teasing 
kept them for the time to the sport of punishing these 
care-racked swains whom they would presently reward 
by full confession of most astounding truth. 

"My Lord Bassanio," said the lady, resting her golden 
head back amongst silken cushions, "is as full of argu- 
ment as I myself proved to be yesterday. By his honor 
he swears, Nerissa, aye, by his soul, that no woman 
had that ring of mine, but a civil doctor who refused 
three thousand ducats and begged the ring. 'The 
which I did deny him/ writes Bassanio very truly, 
'and suffered him to go away displeased, even though 
he had saved the life of my dear friend.' Then come 
arguments which show what shame and discourtesy it 
would have been not to relent and send the ring after 
this wise Balthazar, who had conceived so freakish a 
desire. And, after urging that I myself would not have 
permitted such base ingratitude, finally admits that the 
ring was offered and accepted — hence all this misunder- 
standing. Oh, Nerissa, my sides ached when I read 
the effusion." 

"Why, so did mine on seeing Gratiano's, mistress. 
Yet I admit my heart ached too for his distress." 

"Tra, la, la — they shall have comfort enough later. 
I think, for my own part, they deserve this lesson to 
teach them never to break oaths sworn to a woman. 
Did you answer your letter, Nerissa?" 



324 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



"No, lady. I — I came to you." 

"Who have answered for both. Poor souls! How 
they will fret, gnaw their lips, and vow vengeance on 
all false swearers and liars! You are curious, child? 
Well, this is the message I sent, namely, we had heard 
on indisputable authority, that in Venice two fair ladies 
openly boasted they had these selfsame rings given 
them but yesterday evening by their lovers." 

Nerissa drew a deep breath. 

"Madam! You said that!" 

"Certainly — it is no more than truth." 

"Gratiano will despair. Consider, lady — he — they — 
may do violence to themselves in their anguish." 

"Tra, la, la. Not they. They will argue, Nerissa 
— trust a man for that! They'll champ and rage, swear 
great oaths, write many billets and in the end find that 
we were simply stating true and honest facts, which but 
for their masculine folly they would have read long 
since." 

Nerissa smiled faintly. "Indeed, I think I should 
have come at the truth in part ere now, had I been 
they," she murmured. 

"Of course, child. So we teach these husbands respect 
of us at the outset. But who comes here? Another 
messenger — did I not tell you so?" 

"He carries no billet, lady." 

Portia turned to where a page stood bashfully in the 
doorway, holding the silken curtain back with his right 
hand. 

His mistress beckoned him. 

"Come hither, pretty Gaspard, and tell me who sent 
you?" 

The boy came forward, dropping on one knee by the 
lady's couch. 



A SWEET CONFESSION 325 

"The Lord Bassanio and his friend the Signior 
Gratiano send you their love and homage/' he replied 
in a shrilly sweet treble, "and bid me acquaint your 
ladyship with the fact that within the hour the> ride 
for Padua; nor will they return without a certain learned 
doctor you wot of, and his clerk, together with the 
rings they bestowed too hastily upon them. And in this 
the lords crave your patience, since, though they may 
be long absent in their search, they will await success. " 

Portia glanced softly to where her maid stood, glum 
and mumchance at the foot of the couch, and though 
her own pretty face clouded, she could not conceal a 
lurking dimple. 

"Why," she murmured, "if they do wait to find 
Balthazar and his clerk anywhere than here I do not 
think we shall see our husbands again, Nerissa. What 
say you?" 

"Lady, that we discover the truth to them. It were 
cruel to send them away." 

"Faith, it is none of my sending! You shall — you 
shall tell the Lord Bassanio, little Gaspard — but no, 
who comes here?" 

Another page was at the door; he looked scared at 
the sight of his lady's frown. 

"Gracious Signora," he stammered, "it is the Sig- 
nior Cainello, who is desirous of seeing you at once." 

Portia rose slowly, a dainty figure in her blue gown of 
soft velvet and broideries. 

"Antonio," she murmured. "Why, Nerissa, here is 
the very messenger for our need! Or shall we call 
him father confessor to naughty penitents? Or — there, 
there, run away Gaspard, there is no answer to your 
message; and you, Pietro, bid Signior Cainello in. 



326 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



Nerissa, you shall wait there. Now all is ready for the 
peace-making." 

She had folded her hands in mock humility as Antonio 
Cainello entered. 

The young merchant's face wore a troubled expression, 
and he looked at Portia's laughing countenance with 
some apprehension. 

Truth to tell, he could not fathom her mood, having 
expected to find her either in depths of woe or shaken by 
tragic rage. This merry, dimpling girl, whose air of 
grand dignity had been laid aside, was disconcerting 
enough to him. 

"Lady," said he, "I have craved audience very boldly. 
Yet in my unhappiness could do no less, since I grieve 
to think I am the cause of all these quarrels." 

The dimples faded from Portia's cheeks. Impulsively 
she stretched out a friendly hand. 

"Nay, you shall not grieve, Messer Antonio," she 
urged. 

"Alas!" he sighed. "How could it be otherwise, 
since I see much melancholy on a dear friend's face? 
Melancholy in place of such joy as rejoiced a friend's 
heart to see. He was so happy, lady, in returning to 
you. And now his gladness turns to grief by this sad 
misinterpretation — for I do swear to you, by my honor, 
that he who had the ring was he who saved my life when 
its fate trembled on the balancing of a hair. Nay, I 
myself helped to persuade your husband to bestow the 
gift, and for this cause the more urgently beseech your 
forgiveness and faith to him, staking my soul on the vow 
that he will never so transgress again." 

Once more the lady laughed, gay and clearly as a bird 
in springtime, whilst, coming nearer to the other's side, 
she held out a ring. 



A SWEET CONFESSION 327 

"Then you shall be his surety," she replied. "Give 
him this ring — it is the same he gave the doctor from 
Padua, whilst Nerissa here would thank you for being 
messenger with hers for her Gratiano. You looked 
amazed, Signior. Is the riddle too hard for you?" 

"Indeed, lady, it is so. My wit goes stumbling in 
such perplexities." 

Portia laughed merrily. "You shall astonish our 
husbands more then, since you may tell them that they 
need seek no further than Belmont, aye, nor this house, 
for the young doctor and his clerk. Is it then so wonder- 
ful, Signior, that a woman has wit and can play the dis- 
sembler too with the best of men?" 
t "It is not possible, lady, that you " 

"Were young Balthazar who answered Shy lock the 
Jew to his discomfiture? Come, sir, you shall believe 
me on proof. Sit here awhile and listen to the tale which 
you shall carry straightway to those poor fools in punish- 
ment yonder. Tell them it was their own fault, since 
my last command to them in Venice was to bid them 
know us when we met again." 

Mystified, amazed, wondering, Antonio listened to the 
fantastic tale which Portia di Nerlini told, and when it 
was finished took the speaker's hands, kissing them 
with a gratitude which brought quick tears to her 
eyes. 

"Lady," he murmured, "you saved my life in this 
sweet conspiracy. I thank you for it, since all other 
words fail me. I thank you, lady." 

"Why, then," she cried, her blue eyes glistening, "I 
am repaid — though that I was before in helping to save 
so noble a friend to my husband, and making him my 
own, I hope, thereafter?" 



328 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



Antonio rose. He was thinking of how Bassanio 
still waited without in the garden on the brink of a 
forlorn journey. 

"Your friendship with his, lady," he said with emo- 
tion, "will make the happiness of Antonio's life. Indeed, 
'tis strange how closely knit are tragedy and laughter. 
Yesterday I was a ruined man and like to die a cruel 
death. To-day I am restored to all my best estate 
with another noble friendship to seal and cement a 
former." 

"Yet your wealth " hesitated Portia. 

The other smiled. "Fortune is lavish with her 
favor," said he. "Last night as we sat down to dine, 
a messenger came in haste from the Rialto bringing me 
the intelligence that three of my lost argosies, driven by 
fierce winds out of their course, had weathered the 
storm and safely come to port. I am rich in all to-day, 
lady — but chief est in my friendships." 

"I think," quoth Portia softly, "Bassanio is very 
fortunate in such a friend. I am glad of your happiness, 
Messer Antonio." 

Yet as she looked into the young man's handsome 
face and dark, mournful eyes, shadowed even in laughter, 
she guessed the secret Bassanio had never learned 
throughout long years of friendship, and knew that 
Antonio Cainello had learned both the meaning of 
love and loss. 

And the knowledge quickened the friendship which 
she too offered her husband's friend that day. 

"We will come," she whispered softly, "after you. 
But you, our friend, shall tell the story to our lords." 

So Antonio went, to heal a fancied breach and bring 
amazement, love and laughter to those who grieved 
yonder amidst the flowers and trees of the palace gardens. 



A SWEET CONFESSION 329 

Was it possible this tale were true? asked one of the 
other, and then their eyes being opened, they fell to 
mocking their own folly that they had never guessed 
so patent a truth before. 

Had not memory played her game of will-o'-the-wisp 
with both Bassanio and his friend as they stood yester- 
day in court? The Paduan doctor's voice, the trick of 
poising his head — his clerk's pert chin and dark eyes. 
Where had their own eyes been, poor dupes and fools? 
Yet there was not sufficient time for their own tongues 
to scourge them, since their ladies were even now com- 
ing to them across the sunlit lawns. 

Portia had stopped, meeting Lorenzo and Jessica 
upon the way, too kind of heart to raise her own brim- 
ming cup of happiness to her lips ere quenching others' 
thirsts. 

So she waited to tell this anxious pair how the law 
gave wealth to them from the hoards of the rich Jew's 
coffers, and that so without fear or care they might go 
whither they would, escaping dread of vengeance to 
enjoy the happiness which love assured them of. 

Jessica wept for very joy at such news, whilst with 
Lorenzo's arm about her she wandered off down some 
shady path, painting with him a pleasant picture of the 
future, rose-lit by a kind hand. 

As for Nerissa, she had already found her Gratiano, 
and was scolding him too, since he was fain to show 
his admiration, repentance and devotion by kisses 
when she was all for chatter and teasing, listening to 
ardent vows or the making of shy confessions Portia 
had crossed the lawn to where Bassanio stood, halting 
there, watching his lady as she came to him in all her 
gracious beauty. 



330 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 



The birds sang their sweetest melodies in the myrtle 
bushes near. The sunshine poured its welcome warmth 
on everything, crowning the golden glory of Portia's 
shining tresses. She was coming! And he loved her. 
How the birds sang! How filled with happiness was the 
whole wide world ! 

Love held royal sway that day in the gardens of the 
Palazzo Nerlini. And if Antonio Cainello walked alone 
he too thanked God for all the joy around. Was he not 
happy too, rejoicing in the joy of his friends? 

"Portia." 

"Bassanio." 

With hands locked fast they stood beside the plash- 
ing fountain, which formed sweet accompaniment for 
whispered vows — as old as the hills, yet eternally new 
to youth and trusting faith. 

"And is it possible you were that wise doctor who 
saved Antonio's life?" whispered Bassanio, as he bent 
to look closer into his wife's smiling eyes. "How can 
I praise you, bravest and sweetest of lawyers? How 
can I reproach you for not betraying your secret before 
to one who suffered so just now?" 

But his wife only laughed as she raised rosy lips to 
meet his eager kiss. 

"You deserved far worse, Bassanio," she vowed, 
"since you looked into your Portia's eyes — and did not 
know them. Yet I will forgive you — shall I say for 
your friend's sake or your own?" 

"So you forgive me I care not at all," he answered 
with all a lover's fondness, "for there is still one thing 
that with all your wit, dear doctor and healer of men's 
hearts and lives, you cannot argue away." 

"And that?" she asked, blue eyes like stars, as she 



A SWEET CONFESSION 331 

looked into those gray ones above her which told their 
own tale. 

"My love," answered Bassanio, very softly. 



THE END 







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